


Secrets and Lies

by Kevin_Mask (Nikolai_Knight)



Category: Kinnikuman, Kinnikuman Nisei | Ultimate Muscle
Genre: Break Up, Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, Eventual Happy Ending, M/M, Mpreg, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-11-06 14:18:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17941298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nikolai_Knight/pseuds/Kevin_Mask
Summary: It was a forbidden love.Kevin knew that to be found out would be to risk everything. Warsman was so much older, as well as the best friend of his father, and yet something drew them inexplicably together. Even after they were pulled apart . . . forced to separate under the strain . . . something brought them back together every time. They would struggle, but Kevin knew they would find a way.





	1. Chapter 1

_‘I am ashamed of you, Kevin.’_

_Kevin scoffed, as he brought the bottle to his lips. The cool glass was pressed uncomfortably between his steel mask and soft flesh, which forced him to throw his head back to get the last of the liquid against his tongue, and he swallowed the last of the beer. It provided warmth. A cool breeze blew in from the window, while room swayed around him and his vision blurred, and he laughed . . . slow, cold, quiet . . . it spilled from him as he gulped at the liquid._

_The beer soon spilled down his chin. He coughed and spluttered and choked. Tears streamed down his face, even as the laughter merged with the clogged windpipe, and Robin snatched at the bottle . . . yanking it away . . . the violent gesture left his hand hanging midair, as his fingers clenched around a bottle no longer there. Robin threw the bottle against the wall. It shattered into a thousand pieces, leaving a trail of brown liquid down the wallpaper, while the glass shards glittered in the harsh artificial light. Kevin huffed._

_‘I’m legal to drink,’ muttered Kevin._

_‘You’re eighteen.’_

_‘Ah, yes, what were you doing at my age?’ Kevin lifted his mask and spat. ‘The captain of the Oxford rugby team, yes? I bet you did ever so well trying to impress the honourable Alisa. It’s a shame . . . all that work and she spreads her legs to create a bastard you hate. Congratulations, I’m living proof your virtuous life yields no good.’_

_A stinging slap struck his cheek. He stumbled to the side and fell, collapsing onto the floor from his inebriation and lack of balance, and the room span with an uncomfortable double-vision, as his stomach lurched and bile burned the back of his throat. The damage was minimal, as the steel mask and its padding protected his cheek. He turned to Robin. The knuckles of his right hand were red and bloody. Robin sneered and pointed a trembling hand to the hallway door, as he stepped back and turned his back to Kevin._

_‘Get out of my sight,’ spat Robin._

_Kevin crawled to the wall, before he braced himself and climbed upright. He swayed, while he tasted iron against his tongue, and marched towards the door with hand against the wall for balance, as shame and anger and fear coursed through his veins. The rush of adrenaline mingled with the euphoric burst from the alcohol, and tears spilled over his blue eyes and cast the world around him in an obscured veil. He fell through the door . . ._

_* * *_

. . . a knock at the window.

The shadowy figure leaned against the wall, with only the side of his silhouette catching the moonlight, and it reflected from the black of mask, while the reds of his eyes practically glowed in the darkness outside. A dangerous smirk cracked over his lips. The arch of his back emphasised his muscles and the curves of his form, and every breath was slow and deliberate to bring attention to his chiselled chest. Kevin swallowed hard at the sight.

He climbed from the king-sized bed, as blond hair cascaded down his back. The dyed-pink fringe was a recent addition, with a few stains of dye still marking his oversized t-shirt, and he brushed it back with a callused hand and a chuckle. He strode over in the pitch-black room, as the shirt barely hid the black sleep-shorts. The traffic outside sent an array of bright white and red lights against the clear glass, some reflecting back like a multitude of stars, and it was a small miracle alone that Warsman had not been spotted by passersby.

Warsman turned as he came closer. They stood opposite one another, with only a sheet of glass between them, and Kevin placed a finger on the lock, only to pause as he heard a creak of a floorboard from the hallway just beyond his bedroom door. Warsman jumped back into the shadows, where he hid with eyes closed and body crouched. A few ticks of the clock echoed out about the bedroom, while footsteps stamped their way towards his room, and – finally – a knock descended against his door. Kevin rolled his eyes and huffed.

A deep breath steadied his nerves, as he shouted out ‘enter’. Robin stepped inside, dressed with a long gown and a mask more conducive to sleep, although a slump to his shoulders betrayed his exhaustion and the steaming mug of hot chocolate spoke of an early night. He turned to the four-posted bed out of habit, only to quirk his head to one side with a low hum. Kevin coughed. Robin turned to him and grunted, as he nodded with narrowed eyes.

“I thought I’d check in on you before I go upstairs,” said Robin.

He cast an eye about the room. A selection of trophies and family photographs lined the shelves, exactly as organised by Robin during Kevin’s youth, and only a few posters marked any real individuality, along with stray bottles and torn clothes that lay scattered about the plain carpet. Robin touched at the first mask Kevin ever wore, as his eyes softened and wrinkles deepened about his ageing skin. Kevin winced and spat:

“Now you care? Do you remember you hit me?”

“And do you remember how you spoke to me?” Robin frowned. “I never wanted anything more than I wanted a son, and your mother graced me with the greatest gift I could ever hope to receive, and while you can insult me . . . you cannot insult _her_ , Kevin. I was the one to do wrong by you, son. Alisa only ever did all she could to make you happy.”

“Then why didn’t she tell you to _stop_ with your regimented training?”

“Kevin, I raised you only as I was raised. You are a _chojin_ , as such I assumed such training and studies and exercise regimes were normal, and as they never scarred me . . . I was wrong to assume that you would react in the same manner. Still, do you honestly think that by lashing out in this way that you are somehow evening the score?

“You can run away all you want, but this drinking and fighting and joining the _dMp_ -! Do you wish to ruin your reputation? Do you wish to ruin your body? This puts you at a disadvantage in battle and all you ever wanted was to prove your worth against –”

Robin lowered his head. The shadows caught at his mask, until his eyes were like glaring beacons through the dark, and he stepped slowly forward with both hands around his mug, while he tilted his head just enough to try and look past Kevin. Kevin snatched at the curtains, yanking them closed and blocking all view of the street beyond. A few snatches of classical music drifted from upstairs, where Robin likely left his bedroom door ajar, and Kevin crossed his arms over his shirt, while a smirk played across his stubble-covered cheeks. Robin asked:

“Why are you standing by the window?”

A low sigh escaped Kevin, as he ran a hand through his hair. He stepped towards Robin, just as Robin tried to throw open the curtains, and placed both hands on his hips, before he nodded towards the door and cleared his throat. Robin stared him down. The clock ticked by with loud markings of the second, until Kevin heard a barely stifled conversation outside, and clearly – even in the dark – someone was talking to Warsman . . . afraid of an intruder in an affluent area, afraid of a threat to a respected family. Kevin spoke quickly.

“I’m waiting for Warsman,” said Kevin. “I thought I’d sneak your best friend into my room after dark, because there’s nothing that would piss you off more than fucking someone that you thought you could trust, and he’s right there waiting to be let inside. Is that all, Daddy? I feel guilty leaving him out there. It’s rather cold at this time of year.”

“Grow up, Kevin,” spat Robin. “You are a child no longer.”

Robin rolled his eyes, as he marched out of the bedroom. The door was slammed shut, before he marched loudly up the adjacent staircase, and Kevin – only when he heard a second slam – flung open the curtains and threw wide the window. He waved to an elderly neighbour and whispered that Warsman was an uncle that was locked out, while he cast fervent glances to the floor above and prayed that Robin would not look out in the next minute.

It took some effort for Warsman to crawl through the window. The pane was only large enough for light and air, with little thought to any person that may want unorthodox access, and the neighbour watched until Warsman was fully inside, before he threatened to tell Robin in the morning of the ‘midnight visitor’. Kevin flipped him off. The window was pulled shut, while the curtains were drawn once more, and – as soon as they were alone together in the darkness of the room – Kevin threw his arms around Warsman and kissed at his neck.

Each press of his lips was fast and hungry, while he ground his body against the barely clad _chojin_ , and Warsman chuckled as hands roved over his flesh, exploring every inch of skin and ripping off the few pieces of protective armour. Warsman stepped back and took Kevin’s hands in a firm hold, before he pressed a chaste kiss to his knuckles and looked him over with blown pupils. He licked at his lips and smirked, as he whispered in a low voice:

“I sometimes wonder if you want me just to rebel against your father.”

“I want _you_ because I’ve never met anyone else as brave, as intelligent, as _handsome_ ,” whispered Kevin. “You inspire me to greater heights. You support me when others would tear me to pieces. I want you as you are the man I love, but . . . I want you _here_ because I know it would piss him off, yes. He would be furious if he knew.”

“There will come a day when we must tell him,” said Warsman. “I want more than to be your little secret, Kevin. I want to share in all of life’s milestones . . . I want to be your second in battle, but your first in life . . . there is so much that we can share together.”

“Ever the hopeless romantic, aren’t you? I want nothing more than to be at your side, but you must realise that I’ve only just returned home. It’s been a constant battle every day with my father, enough that I can barely stand it, and I’ve thinking about returning to the dMp, especially as they’ve offered me a position in Japan. If he finds out about us now -?”

Warsman pressed a finger to his lips. The touch was gentle and lingered, until it finally faded away and Warsman took both his hands together, as he slowly pulled him toward the bed and guided him towards the edge, and – together – they sat and entwined their fingers. A few footsteps could be heard upstairs, while the car lights would occasionally catch through the gap in the curtains, and they would illuminate and darken Warsman with alternating flashes, enough to make his red eyes sparkle. Warsman ran his fingers through blond hair.  

“He would disown you,” said Warsman.

The slow strokes through his hair brought great comfort, as Kevin leaned into each touch and half-closed his eyes with a soft hum, and Warsman – with a few tears threatening to fall – pulled him flush against his chest, as he wrapped an arm around Kevin. They remained together in a warm embrace, until Kevin slid down and rested his head in a waiting lap. It was a chaste intimacy, but one that nearly lulled him into a deep and peaceful sleep, as he relished the warm muscles against his cheek and the fingers still moving against his scalp.  

“You would also lose your best friend.” Kevin winced. “You’ve told me so much about your childhood . . . shunned by other children, abandoned by your father . . . could you really abide a loss of a close friend on top of those traumas? I cannot be the one to hurt you.”

“Why do you not let the choice be mine? I would give up everything for you, Kevin. If I had to give up my home, my friends, my very identity -? I would give it all away in a millisecond. I look to you and I finally see a future and feel complete, but without you my heart aches and I feel as if a part of me is missing, and even just these weeks without you cause me to lose all focus and grow despondent. I want to be with you always, not just sometimes.”

“What of the practicalities? What of when word spreads?” Kevin stroked at his thigh. “You can’t seriously think your friends would support our relationship, Nikolai. They would side with my father and we would be ostracised from _chojin_ society. No, let us be content for now and enjoy the stolen moments we have . . . I just want to forget reality and –”

“Live in the dream? Pretending we can be more than we are at present?”

“Please, let me forget for tonight? I just want to feel . . . to feel . . .”

“Loved?” Warsman asked. “Wanted? Desired?”

“ _Something_ ,” confessed Kevin.

Kevin pulled himself upright. A tuft of a pink-dyed fringe fell about his bright blue eyes, while long locks of hair tumbled over broad shoulders, and he leaned his weight on his hands, as he licked at his lips and blinked back tears. He fell a few inches short of Warsman in that position, eliciting a low and primal growl from those swollen lips. Warsman took a hold of his shoulder and pushed Kevin onto his back, knocking the air from him and causing him to fall with arms splayed above his head in a vulnerable position. Warsman asked:

“How do you want me?”

He hooked his arms underneath Kevin, sliding him up the bed. The sheets pulled with him, catching about their legs, and his blond hair fell like a halo about the pillows, as Kevin looked up into those glowing and passionate eyes just a few inches from his face. Warsman knelt over him, with hands already yanking the shirt from his form. It left him only in his sleep-shorts. Kevin gasped and struggled to slow his racing heart, while rough hands ran over his chest and slowly explored each ridge of muscle. He found enough strength to plead:

“Nikolai, will you just take me?”

“I know you love the submissive seducer,” teased Warsman. “The one who bats his eyelashes and gasps and moans, all while he is ploughed with legs spread. There will be blushes and coy glances . . . lips whispering ‘ _please’_ and ‘ _more’_ , body trembling as your hands bruise my hips . . . back arching, legs clenching, hands clawing . . . hmm, is that what you want?

“Ah, but perhaps you prefer a more dominant partner tonight? The one that rides you and pins you down, while you writhe and beg and strive for a release, and the one that milks you with smirks and licks of his lips and subtle bites to your neck . . . marking you as his?”

“Are you all talk and no action? _Fuck me already_.”

Kevin mewled, as he pulled Warsman down against him. The press of his lips was enough for tears to spill and moans to escape, while Kevin wrapped his legs around a muscular waist and locked them about the ankles, and Warsman – grinding an already half-hard erection against him – deepened the kiss and slipped him a tongue. A bitter taste of coffee and _borscht_ invaded his mouth, but Kevin could not get enough. He kissed back in earnest.

All sense of time was lost. Kevin explored every part of Warsman’s mouth, while writhing beneath him and grinding together their erections, and his hand started to scrabble at shoulders and arms and chest, desperate to somehow get a closer connection. A low growl escaped Warsman, as he snatched at Kevin’s hands and pinned them above his head. Their lips momentarily parted, leaving Kevin arching upward for more content, as they shared a breath and locked eyes with a hungry gaze. Warsman kissed him again.

Kevin pulled and struggled against the hold, even as he sought for more contact and to deepen the kiss, and together they shared every breath and laugh and moan. Warsman tightened his hold, forcing a heavy sigh from Kevin. A spark of arousal ran through him. It set every nerve aflame . . . _a person he could trust, finally relinquishing control . . . safe in someone’s hold_. . . Kevin continued to kiss until the pleasure formed too much a distraction.

“I can’t wait much longer, Nikolai,” pleaded Kevin.

“ _Это вам_ _,”_ whispered Warsman.

There was no time to think . . . to react. Warsman gripped both hands in one, as he slid down the bed and wrapped his lips around a nipple, and Kevin – crying out – bucked his hips and arched his back, while sparks drifted about his vision. The other hand came down to the other nipple, where it pinched and flicked and tweaked. Kevin gasped and choked on saliva. He was numb to all other sensations, as Warsman suckled with the perfect pressure, and soon his tongue was running circles around the areola and teeth would lightly tease the nipple.

A light sweat broke over Kevin, as the sheets clung to his back. He clenched his hands until knuckles turned white, while Warsman massaged at his chest with one hand and suckled at each nipple in an alternating pattern, and already his member leaked pre-come, leaving stains on his shorts as he throbbed with an uncomfortable pulse in time with his heart. Kevin mewled and whined, as every breath came out in shallow pants.

“Quiet, my love,” chided Warsman.

A burst of cool air followed, as Warsman blew over the saliva-covered nipple. It was enough to force them erect at the best of times, but instead it combined with the pleasure and sensitivity to force a high-pitched keening sound from his throat. Kevin bucked towards him, while he choked again and his eyes rolled back, and this time a curse was uttered . . . _words in Russian, strange exclamations_. . . Warsman let go of his hands and pulled back.

The bed dipped as Warsman crawled away. Kevin watched him through hazy and blurred eyes, while Warsman shucked the last item of clothing, and – as his black underpants were dropped to the floor – a pair of buttocks stood prominent in Kevin’s line of sight. He licked his lips and rolled onto his side . . . _‘come back to bed’_. . . Warsman threw open the drawer on the bedside table, before he rooted desperately though its contents. A bottle of lubrication was tossed onto the bed. A condom followed, along with a black silk tie.

Kevin lay back as Warsman climbed back onto the bed. He obediently offered his hands, as Warsman sat astride him and lifted his arms high above his head, and his wrists were soon tied against the oak bedposts with an expert hand. The knot would be impossible to untie without help, while the silk would protect his skin from friction burns or cuts. Warsman leaned down to kiss him again, while he ground down his buttocks against the hard member, and Kevin cried out until a hand was pressed over his lips. Warsman asked in a husky voice:

“If I remove my hand, will you finally be quiet?”

Kevin mewled, as Warsman sighed.

“There is something deeply erotic at knowing you cannot control yourself.” Warsman pecked at his hand, mimicking a kiss to soft lips. “Still, you know that we cannot be caught. Even if I would tell you the world about love, this is not the way I would reveal that truth. I also do not want anyone else to see you this way . . . you are mine . . . _my love_.”

Warsman removed his hand, only to replace it with his mouth. It muffled a great deal of the gasps and groans from Kevin, while Warsman fumbled with his sleep-shorts, and – finally lifting his legs to help ease them off – they were tossed onto the floor. He instinctively sought to wrap his legs back around the waist, but Warsman forcibly shoved them flat against the mattress and shifted his position. Kevin wanted to rest his hands on thick thighs. He tugged and fought against his restraints, while Warsman refused to break the kiss.

It was sloppy and clumsy, both too distracted to apply skill, and yet it was perfection. Warsman fumbled for the plastic tube of lubrication, where a loud click echoed through the darkened room and the scent of artificial strawberries echoed out. A misplaced hold sent lubrication spilled all over Warsman’s hand and Kevin’s chest, as Warsman cursed and flinched, while desperately trying to scoop as much back into the tube as possible.

“Just leave it,” laughed Kevin. “It’s like the first time all over again.”

“We must have gone through three condoms, at least before we worked out how best to get them out and apply them without damage.” Warsman chuckled against his neck, while he kissed at the milky white skin. “I do not think either of us lasted long, either.”

“You got come in my eye when we tried oral afterward.”

“And you nearly regurgitated onto my lap.”

“Ah, I never did master my gag reflex.”

They both burst out into laughter, while Warsman scooped up some of the lubrication. The memories of their first time flooded back, somehow so flawed and yet so perfect, and how each mistake somehow added to the intimacy, as they experienced everything for the first time in each other’s arms. Tears pricked at Kevin’s eyes, as he whispered ‘ _I love you_ ’. A rough hand came behind to run lubrication over his length, sending electrical pleasure coursing through every nerve and every muscle, and his vision sparked with bright lights.

“ _Oh, holy_ –!”

The free hand clamped over his mouth. He accidentally bit into the palm, as he cried out against the skin and his body tensed with pleasure, and his hands gripped tight against the bedpost, until veins bulged along his forearms. Warsman seemed to milk him. Each finger would move independently of the others, each one awaiting its turn to press down, before they would release in the same order. The pre-come leaked out in spurts, merging with the lubrication into a sticky mess. Warsman would twist on each upward stroke.

“This is why it is best to wait until Robin is out,” teased Warsman.

“You mention my father _now_ ,” Kevin gasped.

The hand over his lips barely pulled entirely away, as it scooped more lubrication, and soon it was hidden out of sight behind Warsman . . . only his expression gave away his actions . . . _subtle squints and blown pupils, lips pursed and nostrils flared . . . a loud cry as the prostate was pressed . . ._ Kevin licked at his lips. He watched with an eager eye, as Warsman prepared for what was to follow. A sweat was visible on his flesh. He panted for breath, while leftover lubrication dripped onto Kevin’s crotch, still being worked by that wonderful hand.

“Now who’s being loud,” gasped Kevin.

“I do not think I can last too long,” confessed Warsman. “The past few weeks have been torture without you, and I found no comfort even from my own hand. I wonder if it is time we invested in some ball-gags . . . I have seen some with a hole cut in the middle.”

“Hmm, and you have images of me gagged whilst sucking your cock?”

“And handcuffed from behind, if truth be told.”

Kevin laughed, but his laughter was soon stopped short. Warsman slid down. He didn’t stop until he reached the hilt, as pubic hair tickled against his plump buttocks, and Kevin – screaming out – felt every inch of those inner walls against his shaft. A hand was quickly thrown against his lips, muffling as much of the sound as possible, but it couldn’t prevent the shudders of the bed-frame against the wall as Kevin wildly bucked and writhed.

The other hand came to toy with his chest, working his second-most sensitive spot, and tears spilled from his eyes and into his hairline, as he licked at the palm and mewled with overwhelming sensations. Every ridge of Warsman’s insides pressed rhythmically against Kevin, while he was certain he could feel every pulse of his heart. The heat was an unbearable ecstasy, forcing him to the very edge, and before him Warsman sported a moderately sized erection with an impressive girth. Kevin sobbed and moaned.

A few beads of pre-come pricked the head. The vein on the underside visibly throbbed, while the flared head provided a sight enough to make Kevin’s mouth water, and the visible curls marked a perfect thatch around the base. Warsman slid the hand from his mouth down to his exposed member, while replacing the touch with his lips. Kevin groaned into the kiss. A desperate part of him wanted to see Warsman working himself to pleasure, the kiss was so intense and passionate that it stole all other thoughts, and he bucked upward.

It forced a cry from Warsman, as the head pressed against his prostate. The kiss soon deteriorated into a mere pressing of lips and shared breaths, while Warsman started to thrust up and down against Kevin’s length, while Kevin bucked upward in a failed attempt to keep time and rhythm. There was a slap of skin on skin. A few slurps of lubrication echoed out, while balls slapped against buttocks. A series of moans escaped the both of them.

“ _совершенство,_ ” uttered Warsman.

The speed intensified. All sense left Kevin . . . _‘uh, uh, uh, oh, uh’_. . . the pleasure built and built, far too quick than he would have enjoyed, but Warsman’s free hand explored every inch of skin and brushed against his nipples and tickled against his sides. Kevin yanked and pulled at his restraints, while his eyes continued to lose vision and his heart pounded loud within his ears. The heavy sweat broke over every inch of flesh.

Kevin struggled to find words. He fought to think. The pleasure grew and grew and grew, spreading through every single vein and nerve, and finally – as it hit its peak – orgasmic ecstasy ripped through his entire body. Kevin clawed at the post. His eyes rolled back. He arched his back and spread his legs, while toes curled and clawed at the sheets. The world ceased to exist, as his heart stopped and breath escaped him, and consciousness momentarily escaped him, until he collapsed back against the bed and drool ran from his mouth.

“Kevin,” cried Warsman. “My Kevin!”

The inner walls clenched hard around his overly-sensitive member, as Kevin gasped with both pain and pleasure, and – as come leaked from that hole and warmth washed over his body – bursts of hot come spurted out in torrents against his clenching abdominal muscles. It collected well against him, marking him with white streaks as Warsman’s. Kevin moaned. He could only watch as Warsman screamed out and arched his back to breaking point, and soon swayed and finally collapsed beside him, with member sliding out from a stretched hole.

They lay side by side, until Warsman undid the knot. The restraints were relinquished. Kevin pulled Warsman against him; they entwined their legs, while Warsman rested his head against Kevin’s racing heart, and arms encircled one another with firm yet loving holds. The cold air brushed against naked flesh. Every panted breath echoed through the bedroom, while they chuckled and groaned and kisses were pressed to every available inch of skin.

“You forgot the condom,” muttered Kevin.

“How romantic of you,” laughed Warsman. “I believe it should be fine, as I can find emergency contraception in the morning, but . . . I must admit . . . I enjoy the feeling of your come inside me and leaking from me. It makes us feel . . . connected.”

“More so than my penis physically inside your anus?”

Warsman laughed again, as he slapped at Kevin’s arm. They shared a brief look. The love and affection was more than apparent, enough that Kevin felt his heart swell and took Warsman’s chin in hand, and – lifting it high – leaned down to lock lips yet again. A wet hand ran its way through his hair, while his come-soaked stomach pressed against Warsman, and yet he could not bring himself to mind . . . tears fell from his eyes . . .

He failed to recognise the sound of footsteps. They were loud and fast, like someone almost running down the staircase to get to their goal, and they only entered into his consciousness – with a cold wash of adrenaline and dread – when they reached his door. Kevin jumped into an upright position, as Warsman scrambled for the sheets. The door flung open wide. There was barely time for the sheets to cover their frames and keep their modesty, while Warsman paled and Kevin flushed a deep shade of red, and together they lay awkwardly on the bed.

Robin stood alone. He held clenched fists at his side, where they trembled with white knuckles, and his eyes – barely visible beneath his mask – were narrowed into tight slits. Every muscle bulged with tension, while his dressing gown looked hastily thrown on, and his eyes raked over him, before he looked away with a loud scoff. He could not meet their gaze. He just stared off to the side . . . looking at the childhood trophies and photographs . . .

“I thought you were here with some stranger,” spat Robin.

The tension fled from his frame, as tears pricked at his eyes. The scoff was broken this time, as if he were clearing his throat of some deep emotion, and he stumbled back a step, while his eyes slowly moved to Warsman with a visible wince. Warsman tied a sheet about his waist, as he stared hard down at the sheets and his eyes watered. A cold silence fell between them. It left Kevin with only the beat of his racing heart for company, until Robin choked out:

“My best friend? _Really_?”

Kevin winced . . .


	2. Chapter 2

Kevin clenched at the sheets.

They barely covered his chest, while the come still leaked down his abdomen. It clung and stuck to the sheets, creating an uncomfortable and sticky barrier, and his hair was slick to his scalp from sweat, as he continued to pant in a desperate search for air. There were bruises about his wrists from being tied to the bedposts. Warsman sat tensed beside him, with his head down and knuckles white from clenching his legs drawn to his chest.

Robin turned to face the long bureau, where a collection of treasured items lay displayed. A trembling finger ran over the blue of his childhood mask, where the metal was seamlessly welded from the armour of his forefathers, and a low sob was muffled by steel, as Robin yanked his hand away as if burned. He slowly craned his neck towards the bed, where dark eyes burned behind the black mesh in the eye-slot of his mask. A few hissed breaths escaped him. Kevin swallowed hard and scooted towards the edge of the bed.

He leaned over to snatch at a few stray items of clothing. The soft fabric of a pillow was thrown against his lower back, as Warsman held a pillow there to keep his modesty, and he quickly found his shorts and struggled to pull them on from underneath the sheets. He wiped the come from his stomach, before he threw himself out of bed. The clothing was scattered about the floor. Kevin grabbed what he could, as he redressed with loud curses.

“I – I can explain,” choked Kevin.

Kevin pulled his hair from underneath his t-shirt, until it draped over his shoulders and hid his back from sight, but – with a small wince – he saw the threads of the spider-web tattoo peaking out from the stretched hem and into the eye-line of his father. He pulled at the t-shirt, while he cast gazes to Warsman. There were tears. They pricked at red eyes, as Warsman kept his head low pursed his lips into a fine line. Kevin moved towards him.

Robin raised a hand. It lingered in the air, as his gaze moved between both men. He dropped it with a heavy thud at his side, while his shoulders hunched and his head lowered, and the clock ticked away the seconds until Kevin gritted his teeth. The sound cut through time, leaving longer and longer to think . . . to worry . . . to panic. Every beat of his heart raced loud in his eardrums, while his body trembled and spots appeared about his vision. He stumbled back towards the bed. Kevin reached out a hand towards Warsman and whispered:

“Are you okay, Nikolai?”

Warsman jerked his shoulder away from the touch, while he wrapped the sheets around his waist and tied them tight, and Kevin swallowed back the bile that formed, as he saw a tear roll down the black face-plate and onto the organic flesh below. Kevin quickly gathered the armour and underwear, as he folded them and piled them beside Warsman . . . one of the greatest _chojin_ known to mankind, one renowned for cruelty in his youth . . . reduced to tears as a great wave of emotion washed over him. Robin glared hard at Warsman.

“I want you out of this house,” spat Robin.

A cold wave of sweat washed over Kevin. He paled and his mouth fell open. Warsman trembled almost imperceptibly, as Kevin raked his eyes over his prone and exposed form, and realisation finally dawned . . . Kevin ran his hands over his face. Warsman dressed with shaking hands, while Kevin reached out and pulled back in rapid succession. He fought his instincts to provide comfort and to keep the peace. Kevin cast his eyes towards his father, even as his vision blurred with unshed tears. He managed to force out:

“Daddy, it’s not Warsman’s fault. I was the one that –”

“Not him, Kevin,” said Robin. “ _You._ ”

Silence descended. Kevin took a step back, as he lifted a hand high. He froze in a defensive position, until something broke inside him . . . his hand clenched into a fist, sharp enough that nails left crescent-shaped cuts into his palms, and lines broke about the corners of his eyes, while he drew in deep and sharp breaths. Robin locked eyes with him. There was no room for argument, as Kevin stepped around the bed with tensed muscles and heavy steps.

Robin huffed, while he marched towards the wardrobe. The doors were flung wide, while he bent low in his gown and snatched at a suitcase, and he practically ran towards the bed, before he threw the case hard on the mattress. Warsman bounced with the weight. The suitcase sprung open and revealed an empty interior. Robin stormed back towards the wardrobe and snatched out a handful of shirts, which he returned to throw into the case. He stopped only to raise trembling hands to his mask and audibly sob into them.

“I thought you wanted a fresh start,” whispered Kevin.

A shuddered breath escaped Robin, before he shook his head. He returned to the bureau, where trousers and underwear and socks were thrown into the case . . . a few keepsakes, a couple of framed photographs . . . Robin moved faster and faster and faster. The movements were jerked and rapid. The sobs turned into growls. Robin stopped only to let out a loud scream, while he slammed both hands down onto the suitcase. The contents scattered into further chaos. Robin hunched forward, as his hands clawed at the sheets.

“Yes, I wanted a fresh start,” spat Robin. “Obviously, you don’t.”

“I _came back_ , didn’t I?” Kevin choked.

“You also fucked my best friend on your childhood bed!” Robin slammed a fist against the bedpost. “I thought I could draw you away from the dMp. I thought maybe we could work through your issues and pull you towards something better, but I see now I was wrong . . . I am ashamed to call you my son. If you wanted to hurt me, you succeeded.”

“W-Where do you expect me to go? I haven’t spoken to Mother’s family in years; they disowned me just as you disowned me! Do you want me to return to the dMp? They’re the only people that offered me security, stability . . . a _home_. Is that where I am to go?”

“Ah, now you care for my input? You didn’t care tonight.”

“You know _nothing_ about what I care about!” Tears streamed down his face. “All my life I fought for your love . . . I cherish the memories of ice cream on a warm day, as you carried me on your shoulders, and hugging you while watching you make my armour . . . _you_ were the one to ignore me, _you_ were the one to push me past my limits . . . _you_.”

He choked back on his tears. They cloyed at the back of his throat, mingling with bile and saliva, as he tasted the salt of tears against his lips, and he laughed . . . _he laughed_ . . . trembling fingers touched the trails down flushed cheeks. Warsman remained alone on the bed, while Robin stayed hunched forward with eyes cast downward. The laughter was the only thing to break the silence. Kevin wiped at his eyes. He darted back to the side of the bed, where he dropped a hand onto Warsman’s shoulder and squeezed tight against the muscle.

“I love Warsman,” whispered Kevin. “We’ve been romantically involved since I was sixteen, and physical since I was seventeen, both of which were over the age of consent. We’ve been discussing how to tell you, as we knew you’d react badly, but this wasn’t done just to hurt you, no matter what you think, Daddy. I love Warsman. I love him more than anything.”

“You don’t even know the meaning of the word,” spat Robin.

Robin threw his head upright. He glared at Kevin, something evident even from the black mesh and the shadows of steel, and a cold shiver ran through him, as saw in Robin the depths of anger rarely seen since he first ran away at the age of eight. The clock continued to tick, until Robin stood tall and cast his eyes toward Warsman. His expression softened. It was visible through how his shoulders fell and muscles unclenched, but he also avoided direct eye contact and when he spoke it was with a broken voice. Robin whispered:

“I thought you were my friend.”

A moment of silence passed between them. Warsman made to speak, but Robin raced towards the door and threw himself into the hallway beyond. The door slammed shut, enough that Kevin flinched and brought a hand to his ears, and they were left alone at last, while footsteps pounded heavily on each and every step of the staircase. Kevin stayed in place, while the classical music upstairs was turned up to an uncomfortable volume.

He let his hand slide from Warsman, as he collapsed onto the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped a little with his weight, while Warsman awkwardly slid his way beside him and finished dressing, and together they sat side-by-side with the scent of sex clinging to the air and sweat-soaked sheets. A rough hand fell down on his thigh, where it squeezed and the thumb ran circles on his soft skin. Kevin took it and held tight. The tears stopped while he focused on breathing slow and deep, and forced out the lingering question:

“What do we do now?” 

The light of the cars outside illuminated the bedroom in an irregular pattern. A burst of light would first cast on the far room and slowly move about the room and out of sight, only to be replaced by the next, and it caught each time at the tears in Warsman’s organic eye, as his quiet sobs soon disappeared and silence returned. The suitcase lay behind them, where it waited to be packed and carried to its next destination. Kevin’s mask lay on its side next to the case, where it was evidently thrown during the fiasco. Warsman squeezed at his hand.

“We must find you a place to stay,” said Warsman.

“Why? I can just stay with you, right?”

“I do not think that would be the best idea at present.” Warsman winced. “Robin is my best friend, Kevin. I cannot stand the thought of continuing as we were without consideration to his emotions, as it will only cement in his mind that we have no respect for him. I am not willing to sacrifice our relationship for any reason, but we cannot deny that –”

“Are you _seriously_ putting my father’s emotions before mine?”

“No, but I am simply stating he has a right to his anger. I am the friend that was by his side for so many years, that supported him through thick and thin, and now – in the worst possible way – he has learnt that I have been _lying_ to him through omission. It is a betrayal.

“I will never leave you, Kevin. I can promise you that you shall never be alone, but – for now – I think we need some physical space in order to respect those in our lives. They will need time to process our union, especially Robin, and with such space then we will not aggravate or provoke the situation into something much worse. They will come around with time.”

Kevin jerked his hand away. He spun around and knocked Warsman’s touch from his thigh, while he grabbed broad shoulders and forced those red eyes to meet his gaze, and – together – they both fought back unshed tears. The previous tears still streaked those black cheeks, while Warsman struggled to stay upright in a sitting position. Kevin creased his brow. He pursed his lips and looked Warsman over, while he rubbed a thumb over the collarbone, and he lowered his eyes as he let loose a hiss of breath. They sat without movement.

“You didn’t care what they felt before,” said Kevin.

A low hum was the only response, as Warsman slowly stood. The hands fell from his shoulders, where Kevin let them drop to his sides with a heavy thud, and Warsman walked around the bed towards the suitcase, where he stared down without expression. Kevin cricked his neck, while Warsman carefully folded the clothes. It was too normal. The mundane chore of properly packing a suitcase was at odds with the tears and tantrums, while the tearstains were almost silver in the minimal light. Kevin slowly climbed to his feet.

“I believe I did not care for their opinions,” corrected Warsman. “I care for their emotions, however, and this was not how I would have them find out about our romance. It is important that we sit down with them and explain our love for each other, as well as how this relationship came about, and with their support we may keep them in our lives.”

“He just _threw me out_ and you care what he thinks and feels?”

“Are you so ready to throw away everything for a panicked reaction? He knew not how to react or how to process the situation, and – instead of attempting reconciliation – you would reject all hope just for the chance to say ‘I was right, he abandoned me’. This is pride.”

Kevin slammed an open palm against the bedpost. The canopy shook and some of the clothes fell from their pile, and Warsman simply paused before continuing his task, without a second glance cast to the man that now panted and hissed for breath. A tight pain struck his chest, as his eyes narrowed until spots formed across his vision. Warsman continued to fold . . . _one shirt put away, another shirt put away . . ._ Kevin spun around and paced.  

He walked a line at the foot of the bed, with hands clenched at his side. The clock continued to tick, while the classical music blasted out from above, and the traffic showed no signs of letting up in amount, so that Kevin brought his hands to his ears. He screwed shut his eyes. Tears built at the corners, bringing a stinging pain as they merged with a heavy sweat, and he spun around and marched next to Warsman, as he pushed a finger an inch from Warsman’s cheek. There was no reaction. Warsman continued to pack with casual movements.

“It is _not_ my responsibility to parent the parent,” snapped Kevin. “I did not ask to be brought in this world, just as I did not ask to have my childhood stolen from me by a man that cared only for his ambitions, and you think me prideful to want to walk away from him?

“Why must I forgive him? Why must I try over and over again to change him? I feel as if you expect me to change and become the ideal son, as if the concept of the ideal were more important than the reality of the son he so abuses! Why must I suffer him again and again just so that he may be happy? I sacrificed so much for him already, but now this?”

“In all relationships, there must be give and take. No person is perfect, Kevin. We can be capable of great evil and good, both coexisting in the same being, and I know my sins haunt me to this day, even as I aspire to be better. I do not expect you to forgive Robin for his mistakes, but simply to accept that he is not an evil to be overcome.

“You are acting in a self-sabotaging manner to protect – _yes_ – your pride. You would rather lose a father and a safe home than to speak with him and respect him, because to respect how he feels is to accept that he is a human being and to change your worldview.”

“You have _some nerve_ to talk to me like that,” spat Kevin.

Warsman winced. He paused with his hands at the edge of the packed suitcase, where all clothes were neatly packed and folded, and – with a slow exhale – closed the lid and clicked closed the locks on the sides with a lingering gaze. He dragged the suitcase from the bed and toward the window, where it would be out of the way and provide them space. Kevin swallowed hard. The sight of the case brought a strange finality, as Warsman slowly straightened his back and turned his head to stare down Kevin, as he said:

“You used to enjoy my honesty.”

“I enjoyed it when you didn’t make my hatred of my father seem irrational!” Kevin blinked back tears. “You talked about how I could be a greater fighter should I just learn his moves. You talked about how I could be happier in life should I find closure from my past. At what point do I get _justice_ for what was done to me? When do you take _my_ side?”

“There is no greater addiction than that of righteous anger. You are revelling in the adrenaline of anger and the comfort of a black-and-white world, but what _we_ did today was a disrespect to your father, even if it was not wrong in itself . . . unethical, yet not immoral . . .”

“So you think he was right? You think I’m some shameful child?”

“You are putting words in my mouth,” said Warsman.

Kevin pursed his lips into a fine line. He looked away, before he marched to the wardrobe. A small selection of clothes remained, including leather trousers and a pink shirt, and – snatching them from the inside – he quickly stripped down and dressed again. The new outfit was everything that Robin would have hated. He struggled to find his knee-high boots and steel mask, but Warsman pointed to a far corner without a single word being needed.

A cold shiver ran through Kevin, as he darted to the corner and pulled on the items. The cold steel of the mask was broken with supportive foam, one which provided support and stability much like a helmet, and it also hid his expressions from plain sight. Warsman would still be able to read him. It was as if he memorised every vocalisation and gesture, enough to know what Kevin wanted even before Kevin knew, and already Warsman walked over to him and knelt beside him on the floor. A hand rubbed at the back of his neck.

“You wanted us to tell my father,” said Kevin. “I was worried about losing all I had left, but now I’ve lost it all . . . what’s holding us apart? I think it’s rather obvious; he threw me out just for loving another man, which makes him the villain in my book. _He_ just turned his back on me! Why should I be the one to extend an olive branch after that?”

“You have not lost it all yet. Do you realise that a simple apology would be all it takes for him to listen to your side of the story? If he continues to be disagreeable after that, I will support you in your decision to walk away and let time pass between you, but I fear you are hurting yourself with these actions . . . you desire the ideal of a father, just as much as he desires the ideal of a son . . . one of you must accept the reality to move forward.”

“No. _No_ ,” spat Kevin. “I am not doing this! You have me here willing to leave with you, after offering you my body and soul, and instead you’re telling me that we need time apart, while siding with my father . . . _that man_. . . well, I think it’s time you made a choice. You can choose to be with me or be friends with my abuser. It’s that simple.”

Warsman widened his eyes. He jerked his hand away from Kevin, where it lingered in the air between them, and a low gasp escaped his throat, while his eyes shimmered with tears. A few long seconds passed, until Warsman fell to his buttocks and fell against the wall. He stretched out his long legs and folded his arms across his chest, while Kevin – with a wince – turned away and ran a hand over his mask and through his hair. The clock ticked. Silence fell as the music above stopped, but Warsman soon broke it with the choked question:

“If I offered you an ultimatum, how would you react?”

“You wouldn’t do that to me,” said Kevin.

“You are right, I would not.” Warsman frowned. “You are forcing me to choose between the man that I love and my best friend, while threatening to leave me should I make a choice you dislike, and I cannot say I feel loved by such emotional extortion. It hurts, Kevin.”

The tears came fast and hard. Kevin brought his knees to his chest, as he buried his face against them and relished in how the mask hid them from sight, and only his jerked movements betrayed the wracked sobs that escaped. Warsman slid behind him, where he wrapped his arms around a muscled waist. A series of kisses followed along his neck and shoulders and upper back, until a few choked sparks of laughter fell from his lips, and Kevin turned just enough that Warsman was able to kiss the steel that covered his mouth.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” murmured Kevin.

They became an entanglement of limbs, as Kevin spun around and spread his legs. He wrapped them around Warsman, while Warsman raised his and did the same, and soon arms ran over chests and faces and arms in a search for comfort. They stopped when they pressed foreheads together and stared downward. The cold facts lay between them. Warsman could not stand to lose his friend, but Kevin could not bear to be around his father. They slowly took in deep breaths, while Warsman toyed with his hair and a tear rolled over his cheek.

“I am not saying we should break up,” said Warsman. “I just want for us to give some time to Robin, as well as open a dialogue with him, so that I do not lose my friend or you lose your father, and I am not walking away from you . . . I will always be with you. My greatest fear is that you will let your hatred of your father blind you to his love. I love you.”

“I – I love you, too, but I just cannot deal with this right now. I need time . . . I need time to process what I feel and forge my own identity independent of him, and I need for you to be at my side, because you’re my anchor in this world. I love you, too, Nikolai.”

“And yet is love enough? My place is here, at least for now, but you –”

“I won’t stay, no. I can’t. I _need_ to leave, because I just –”

“Because this is the one time you shall obey him?”

Kevin struggled to climb to his feet. Warsman grabbed at his hands and tried to pull him down, as words of pleading Russian tumbled from his lips, and Kevin – sobbing uncontrollably – yanked his hands away and stumbled towards the window. He stopped at the windowsill and flung wide the curtains. The world outside continued onward. There were a few people walking dogs or walking home, while cars came to a standstill due to some road-works, and armed police walked their rounds on the London streets. Kevin whispered:

“Will you come with me, Nikolai?”

He turned and extended a hand, as he forced a smile behind his mask. Warsman stood and came towards him. He stopped short of the hand. A slow shake of his head was the only response, as Kevin dropped his hand and wept in earnest, while he reached out and threw open the window and relished in the gust of cold air that burst through into the bedroom. It caught at his sweat and brought a chill through him. He shuddered and gulped down what air was available, even as Warsman stepped beside him and said with a trembling voice:

“I am not abandoning you, but I will not leave with you.”

“That’s the same fucking thing.”

“It is not, which you will see with time, my love.”

Warsman stepped closer. A hand slid up Kevin’s arm and neck, before it gently pushed his mask upward and blocked his vision, and – with lips exposed – a kiss was delivered with great affection and unspoken promises . . . _desire, lust, love, friendship_. . . Kevin nearly deepened the kiss, until the cold realisation dawned. Warsman would not leave with him. _He was abandoned._ Kevin shoved hard and knocked Warsman back, as he clenched at his chest and swallowed back bile that burned his throat. Warsman choked out:

“You know where to find me once you have grown.”

“Likewise, you know where to find me, too.”

The suitcase was tossed from the window, where it landed on the outside stairwell between the ground floor rooms and basement level rooms. It clattered and banged, while it slid down and stopped with a thud against the iron gate, and Kevin slid out with great difficulty, as his large build caught against the window-frame. He stopped midway. His heart raced and his tears burst with tears, until he snatched at Warsman’s wrist and dragged him close, and – shoving up his mask – he exposed his lips and pressed a kiss to Warsman.

They lingered through tears. The kiss soon deepened . . . _passionate pleading . . . ‘please stay’ . . . ‘please come with me’ . . ._ Kevin pulled away with a gasp of breath, as he slid down his mask and climbed out of the window. There was a wall between them. He reached out to stroke at Warsman’s cheek, while bitter tears soaked at his lips, and he stepped slowly away with his hand lingering in the air between them. He found enough strength to whisper:

“You’ll always be my Nikolai.”

With that, Kevin left.


	3. Chapter 3

_Kevin climbed upright._

_The defeated_ chojin _lay scattered around the gym. A series of groans and complaints echoed out, as the men struggled to their feet or to sitting positions, and the stench of sweat filled the room, while the scent of iron soaked into the mat. Kevin rolled his shoulders and flexed his muscles, as he cricked his neck with a loud pop . . . Nikolai would too often complain about the sound. Kevin stopped. A wince broke under his mask, as he turned to the intruder._

_It provided a temptation, as the man stood in the open doorway. A booted foot pressed to the doorframe, where the extended leg showcased beautifully the muscles in his leg that bulged with the pressure, and the skin-tight leotard left little to the imagination. Kevin slowly drew his eyes up along the leg in question, until he reached arms folded over a toned stomach. The tattered and dirty cape broke the illusion of perfection, but the determined stare and perfect posture spoke of a greater elegance, as the man spoke in a strange accent behind his mask:_

_‘You can fight those small fries all day long, but they will not make you a whit stronger.’_

_Kevin grunted. He raised a hand, as his paid sparring partners darted out of sight. They moved past the young stranger, who lowered his leg and strode into the gym, and soon the door was slammed shut with the last one muttering about not being paid enough. The man – a_ chojin _of some power – stopped beside the punching bags and ran his eyes over them. He examined the equipment, even while Kevin snatched at a towel and mopped at his sweat. It was a pleasure to see his curves and toned body, but his unexpected presence was a nuisance._

_‘Ask me to be your trainer; I will do the job of a hundred . . . no, a thousand men.’_

_‘I’m a lone wolf, mate.’ Kevin tossed his towel to the mat. ‘I’d kill myself before I’d beg anyone to train me. If it’s money you’re after -? Get out.’_

_The_ chojin _tapped the punching bag with his fist. There was something almost erotic about his presence . . . confidence, contempt, disinterest . . . very few people treated Kevin as an equal, but even less were not awestruck on sight of him. It was a novelty to be treated as a person, but more so to see one with such hidden strength . . . domination, safety, submission . . . Kevin swallowed hard, as his eyes raked over a form with hidden depths. It was evident this_ chojin _could provide him with a challenge so few possessed._

_‘I will not take my fee,’ said the man. ‘All I ask is the honour of having trained a Chojin Olympics Champion!’ Two burning red eyes turned to Kevin. ‘If I train you, you will be stronger than you have been . . .’_

_‘Er . . .’_

_Kevin blushed beneath his mask. It was hardly an eloquent response, but his eyes . . ._ his eyes _. . . they were such a fierce shade of red, with an intensity that made it seem as if they were boring into his soul. There was something else . . . the way he spoke . . . clearly from some other social class or a different nationality, but yet with an impassive calm tone that spoke of someone who relied solely on logic and less on emotion. Kevin let loose a shuddered sigh, as images of Nikolai came to mind . . . lost love, dwindling flames . . ._

 _The_ chojin _came close to the ring, until he jumped onto the edge. He held the ropes with a great familiarity, leaning forward with no sign of emotion beyond his burning gaze, and his muscles tensed like the drawn string of a bow about to snap. Kevin looked him over. If this man were a fraud, he could be fired with no harm done, but if he were legitimate . . . this was someone promising power, success . . . redemption . . ._

_‘I accept,’ whispered Kevin._

* * *

Chloe leaned back.

The wall behind him bore his weight, as he stretched out his legs. He folded his arms across his chest, while he slowly counted each breath and each heartbeat, and soon his eyes fell closed, as he fell into a deep meditation. It was quiet in the gymnasium. Every grunt and groan from Kevin echoed out, where it reverberated from wall-to-wall, and the skipping rope slapped against the tiled floor with a regular rhythm. Chloe hummed.

Time passed. The beat of the rope stopped, before it was tossed with some force to the side. A loud grunt followed, along with hard and fast footsteps, and soon a sharp draught caught at his cheek, as a hand slammed down against the wall beside his cheek. He gave no reaction. The bare skin of a forearm touched against his mask . . . organic flesh merged with the face-plate, sparking dozens of memories and associations, but Chloe schooled his expression into one of stoicism. Kevin leaned close, as he attempted to intimidate.

The warm breath tickled at his lips, while Kevin panted out and clenched his fist. Chloe resisted the urge to open his eyes, even as Kevin groaned and pushed away, and there followed footsteps pacing before him with some speed. He would still be half-dressed, likely dripping sweat down bulging muscles. It tempted him. Chloe half-smiled, enough that it nearly cracked his mask and betrayed its nature, but Kevin soon asked:

“How can I improve if you don’t offer advice?”

“How can I offer advice on what you have already mastered?” Chloe opened his eyes. “I cannot advise you on trivial tasks and mundane chores. If anything, I feel that you have chosen to absorb yourself in such basic routines as you fear failure. You would rather do these exercises perfectly than to try new techniques imperfectly.”

“Then why are you not pushing me to do something new?”

“The relationship between a _chojin_ and his second involves trust. It is a partnership. I fear you still see me as a trainer you can hire and fire on a whim, as you choose to ignore my suggestions and advice and do what _you_ think is best. Why keep me here if you will not _use_ me? If you wish for a sounding board, the wall behind me will do just fine.”

“You will forgive me, but I have some difficulty trusting people.” Kevin stopped. “I know that I should be able to obey you without question, especially as your advice could be the difference between failure and success, but the things you ask me to do . . .”

“To use your father’s moves? To incorporate them into your style?”

Kevin winced. He stared forward with an imperceptible squint, while his chest expanded with the force of his inhalation, and – with shoulders thrown back and long hair brushing his back – every pore exuded an intimidating aura that filled the gymnasium. The tattoo across his back was partially hidden by his thick locks of hair, but there were far more figures entangled in the webbing than there were in the previous year. Chloe pushed away from the wall, as he walked towards Kevin and placed a hand on his shoulder. He squeezed as he said:

“I am not asking you to emulate him, but to _surpass_ him.”

“Now you appeal to my pride,” said Kevin.

“A pride that is far less than I anticipated.” Chloe smiled. “I appreciate your new self-awareness, as only by dropping your pride can you recognise your weaknesses and improve on them until all that is left is pure perfection. I am pleasantly surprised.”

Chloe ran his fingers through the blond locks. They were tangled in places with sweat and blood, which brought back memories of a shared bathtub and warm waters splashing against them, as Warsman carefully brushed away each and every knot . . . Kevin pulled back. It was an intimacy perhaps too much for a trainer and athlete. Chloe sighed. He stayed still as Kevin returned to the ring, while Kevin perused the blackboard only a few feet from the canvas.

The chalk marked various positions and forms, with detailed annotations and labels. Kevin briefly moved his arms as if attempting a PALO special on an invisible opponent, before he grunted and assumed the position of basic warm-up exercises, and immediately he was knelt on the floor to perform a hamstring stretch. It gave the illusion of great length to his legs, with the taut muscles bulging. The curve to his buttocks was also prominent. Chloe let his eyes rake down the long locks of hair, which clung to his back with sweat.

It brought a shiver down Chloe’s spine. The sight of legs spread, and bare skin glistening, brought a series of tempting mental images and associations . . . _callused hands running over calves, fingers moving slowly over parted thighs, mouth watering as they came every closer to the part that would have Kevin arching his back . . ._ Chloe sighed. He struggled to find a comfortable standing position, while his member throbbed and strained against his body-suit.

“You should wear a cup,” said Kevin.

“I beg your pardon, Kevin?”

Kevin chuckled, as he pointed with a hand to Chloe’s groin. A dark blush overcame Chloe’s cheeks, as he glanced down and saw the distinct shape of his erection, and – with a loud curse – he marched toward one of the metal folding chairs and sat down. He crossed his legs. Chloe cast his eyes to a far corner, while he also crossed his arms and hunched forward. A loud laugh echoed out. Kevin finished stretching and walked towards the ropes, where he fell forward and used them to support his half-naked frame. He waved a hand and shrugged.

“I find it difficult to trust you on some level,” confessed Kevin. “It’s difficult to express into words, as I’ve learned that I can depend on you for all things, and I know you’d never allow harm to fall upon me . . . you have my corner. Still, you clearly are attracted to me. You’re hiding your past, along with your nationality, and there’s something about you . . .”

“Do you care to vocalise what you believe you know?”

“No, not particularly. I feel that it’s something tenuous and fragile, as if it’d shatter should I force it to take form, and . . . worse . . . I fear that you would leave should I uncover the truth, as you try so hard to hide from me. I cannot stand to lose you, Chloe.”

Chloe winced. The arousal soon fled, as his hand came to his chest. He craned his neck to see Kevin awkwardly removing his mask with one hand; tufts of dyed-pink hair fell over his blue-green eyes, while he ran his fingers through his blond hair, and soon the mask was hung from the corner post with little mind. Chloe blinked back tears. There were very few that would ever see Kevin unmasked . . . his parents, Warsman . . . not knowing his true identity, it was a huge expression of trust on Kevin’s part. Kevin whispered:

“How do you feel about me?”

A cold chill ran through Chloe. He rapidly blinked, as he slowly craned his head upward. Kevin showed no sign of emotion, while he continued to lean against the ropes, and his legs were crossed at the ankle, as all his weight remained off the mat. It was a position that could have been exploited by an opponent, were Kevin not already a master of rope tactics. Chloe looked him over and fought back the urge to lick at his lips. He asked:

“Why would you ask that, Kevin?”

“You’re clearly attracted to me,” said Kevin. “It . . . It isn’t something I would mind, but I look at you and I see _him_ , Chloe. I think that’s what scares me. I learnt a lot over the past year . . . I learned about self-control, about trust, about the emptiness of rebellion . . . I defined myself by what I was not, but in the process I lost sight of what I _was_ . . .

“If you define yourself by what you hate, you become nothing but hate. If I could go back in time . . . if I could just _stay_ with him and make those apologies -? I would still hate my father, but perhaps I would be a better fighter and a stronger person. I want to tell him that he was right. I want to tell him that I still love him, but . . . we can’t live in the past, can we? I think that’s my fear. If I were to be with you, would I be betraying him?

“I would have to let him go if I were to be with someone else, which is more than I could bear, as I can’t say goodbye to someone I love so much, and if I can’t say goodbye to him, would this just be some rebound or an affair? You deserve better than that, Chloe. I want you, but I want him _more_ and I hate myself for that. I feel torn . . . conflicted . . . I’m lost.”

“You feel some form of attraction to me?”

“You’re _beautiful_ ,” gasped Kevin. “You’re also intelligent, passionate, and considerate . . . it’s all traits that remind me of _him_. He would tear at his clothes to make tourniquets for my wounds, and I would fall asleep listening to his heartbeat as he told me stories of his past. The minute you walked through that door -? I saw him. It’s – it’s why I accepted your proposal.”

The frown that Kevin bore spoke volumes. Chloe swallowed back his guilt, as he slowly stood and walked over to the ring, and he stopped just a few inches from where Kevin hung over the side, so that he could reach up to cup his cheek. The skin was soft and damp from earlier sweat and tears, while Kevin nuzzled against his palm with a soft sigh. If they were to be intimate, would Kevin notice the similarities . . . _the kinks, the preferences, the sounds . . ._ Chloe slowly pulled back his hand with a shuddered sigh.

He climbed beside Kevin, as he crawled into the ring. Kevin simply rolled onto his back, but his head momentarily lolled backwards and exposed the great length of throat, and it made him almost vulnerable and exposed, enough that Chloe fought the urge to mark the flesh. He instead threw out a hand, which Kevin took, and yanked him to his feet. Kevin towered over him, with his tongue running over plump lips. Chloe choked out:

“How do you feel about a purely physical relationship?”

Kevin smirked. He brushed back his locks of hair, exposing dilated pupils on beautifully expressive eyes, but soon the smile died and a frown overcame him. Kevin stepped back, while his gaze turned towards a shelf filled with display items, and Chloe swallowed back bile and tears to see a photograph of Warsman framed in a prominent place. It was a visual reminder that Warsman was still alive in Kevin’s heart, even despite their distance.  

“I always thought Nikolai would be my one and only,” said Kevin.

A blush swept over Chloe again, as he placed his hands on broad shoulders. He alternated between gentle squeezes and soft strokes with his thumb, while his avoided direct eye-contact and focussed his attention on the fast visible pulses in Kevin’s neck. The shame of never having contacted Kevin . . . waiting for him to make the first move, never realising that Kevin waited in just the same manner . . . Chloe stepped closer, until bodies were flushed. He tilted his head upward, while his breath brushed against those soft lips. Chloe pleaded:

“I do not want you to make you feel –”

“Why do I always fall for those so obsessed with feelings?” Kevin rolled his eyes. “It’s ironic, isn’t it? I wanted nothing more than to feel _something_ just a year ago, but now I’d give everything to feel _nothing_ . . . maybe what I need – really need – is just to control my emotions and learn that you can’t choose between the good and the bad.”

“Kevin, I – I cannot in good conscience agree to an emotional romance. You know me as a person, but not my identity and my true character. I feel there is a lot that would make you reconsider should you know the full truth. It cannot be consent as it stands.”

“But a physical relationship would be perfectly acceptable?”

“If you agree for my body and get my body –”

“You make this sound like a contract.”

Kevin scoffed, as he gently took those wrists. He pulled them away, before he let go and Chloe was left with his hands hanging emptily between them, and – as Kevin slowly walked away – Chloe drew in a broken breath and dropped his hands to his sides. The fast racing of his heart echoed out in his ears, while a cold sweat broke over his skin. He stayed still. Kevin moved around him, until he found a suitable spot on the mat, and soon he was warming up with stretches once more, while he paid no direct attention to Chloe.

“This isn’t an exchange of goods to be outlined in terms and conditions,” said Kevin. “I also  can’t arguably consent to sex with someone if I don’t know to whom I’m consenting, so your differentiating between the physical and emotional is a moot point.”

“And since when did you become so logical?”

“Since I had time to think after leaving the dMp.” Kevin smiled. “I can’t promise I wouldn’t emotional invest, and I can’t promise my emotions won’t get muddled, but . . . I lost Nikolai because I was insecure and too proud. I don’t want to lose anyone else. I don’t want to lose _you_ and something that could be _real_ , just because of my childishness.”

Tears pricked at Chloe’s eyes. He strode over to Kevin and knelt beside him, while Kevin engaged in press-ups that only added emphasis to his muscles and figure, and yet – as Chloe pressed a hand to the small of his back – Kevin stopped . . . _he stopped_. There were very few that he would allow to touch him, but here he paused and rolled onto his back. The hand remained ever touching the skin, but moved with him as he moved, and now rested on the crook of his hip, where his trousers hung just below the bone at an indecent place.

“You have truly grown, Kevin,” whispered Chloe.

Kevin laughed, as he reached a hand up to an exposed neck. He pulled Chloe down, slowly and softly, and soon their eyes were just a few inches apart, as they stared longingly and hungrily at one another, each one knowing . . . _‘he wants more’_. . . it would take only one to give in to desire for the crashing waves of lust to descend. Kevin made the first move. He pressed their lips lightly together, while Chloe nearly fooled himself into thinking that he heard a soft ‘Nikolai’, and soon the arousal returned as Kevin kissed him again and again.

“This is going to end badly,” whispered Kevin.

“Yes,” said Chloe. “I will fall ever more in love with you, while you will feel betrayed by me once you learn the truth. It will end with you leaving me in anger, or me leaving out of shame for the harm I have caused you, and yet I cannot stop yearning for you . . .”

“If you think you’ll hurt me so badly, why even stay?”

“Because I am a fool when it comes to you.”

Kevin laughed, before he kissed him once again. This time there was a hint of tongue, as it caught at his lips, and soon the kiss was deepened, while Kevin took charge and invaded his mouth in search of further pleasure. Chloe dropped fully to the mat. He sat astride Kevin, with his buttocks pressed against a burgeoning erection, and braced his weight on forearms on either side of his chest. Time was lost. The seconds became minutes and the minutes a full hour, until the arousal was too much to bear and grew painful with every pulse.

“Do you walk away now or later?” Kevin swallowed hard. “I know I should keep this professional, but I _want_ you and I just . . . I want to forget him and I also don’t want to forget him . . . if anything, I’m worried that _you’ll_ be the one hurt, Chloe.”

“Are we so selfish that we would willingly hurt one another?”

“Or so selfless we’d be hurt just to please the other.”

Chloe shook his head, even as hands clamoured to remove his outfit. He shook his head. If the bodysuit were to be cast aside, it would reveal his black skin and metallic parts . . . Chloe smiled, as he instead trailed kisses and love-bites down Kevin’s neck, and instead worked at revealing only what was necessary. Chloe awkwardly managed to tear a hole in the groin area, allowing his member to spring outward among a thatch of curls. He tugged and pulled at Kevin’s belt, while Kevin simply laughed and lifted his hips. Chloe begged:

“Promise me that you will not hate me?”

The trousers got caught at the knees. Chloe cursed at the boots that blocked their removal, while Kevin laughed all the more and pulled Chloe back up to his mouth, where the kisses returned and he disposed of his lower garments with only a few twists and turns. They were soon pressed flush against one another, while Kevin’s hands explored every inch of his body through his skin-tight suit, and Chloe felt the tears fall, as laughter spilled from his lips in turn. The touch of warm flesh was more than he could bear . . . the closeness, the intimacy . . .

“I will never hate you,” swore Kevin.


	4. Chapter 4

He was beautiful . . .

Kevin lay prone against the sheets, with long locks spread against his back. A few lines of his tattoo peeked out behind blond hair, while the sheets around his legs left him tangled and trapped, and his blue eyes . . . so vibrant behind the pink fringe, so passionate and so contented . . . watched Chloe with blown pupils. The sheets barely covered his buttocks, while his right hand rested over Chloe’s racing heart and picked at his body-suit.

The fabric clung uncomfortably to his skin. It would need to be replaced, as there was no saving the tear about his member or fixing the various stains, and yet it did its job well, as it hid his body from sight and identity a secret. Chloe turned onto his side, so that he could run a hand over Kevin’s back. He stroked his fingers through the hair. A chuckle escaped Kevin, as he squeezed ever closer and wrapped his arms around broad shoulders, and Chloe held onto his waist in turn with a firm hold. Their bodies were flush against each other.

Outside, the wind howled. A stream of rain lashed against the windowpanes, while shadows danced about the bedroom around them, and together they were in a world of their own creation, with no outside concerns or distractions. Chloe listened to the panted breaths, while Kevin pressed kisses to his mask with muttered complaints . . . _‘let me see you’, ‘let me kiss you’_ . . . Kevin pulled back just enough to press their foreheads together.

“The condom broke,” muttered Kevin.

Chloe tensed. He glanced to the calendar on the far wall, which marked the days to the _Chojin Olympics_ , before he screwed shut his eyes and drew in a deep breath, and – with a long exhale – he pressed a line of kisses to the stubble of a sharp jaw. Chloe stopped once he reached soft lips, only for Kevin to pull him into something deeper . . . warmer . . . passionate . . . it took all his strength to pull back, gasping for air once more. Kevin chuckled and nuzzled against his neck, while they lay as one against the firm mattress.

“Let us worry about that later,” said Chloe.

“I think we should worry _now_.”

“On the contrary, our absolute priority must be your victory.” Chloe breathed deep the scent of Kevin’s hair, as he smiled against warm skin. “The chances of a conception are low, but emergency contraception takes a toll on a _chojin_ body due to our different physiologies from human women, and we cannot afford for me to take time off at this moment.”

“Ah, but a _chojin_ pregnancy is also six months and a child is a lifetime.” Kevin lightly slapped at his buttock and clicked his tongue. “I think you’re just too focussed on our short-term aims, Chloe. I want this to be a career, not a one-off goal for a temporary job.”

“You are quite right. I concede the point.”

“So you’ll head to the pharmacist for something to sort this?”

Chloe nodded with a smile. He rolled onto his back, while Kevin lay against his chest, and the calendar stood as a stark reminder of all they stood to gain and risked to lose . . . Chloe ran his fingertips in a figure-of-eight along the bare skin of Kevin’s upper arm. It brought a low hum from Kevin, who nuzzled against him with a lazy grin. The streetlights outside caught at the tree branches and rivulets of raindrops, which sent strange and beautiful moving shadows over Kevin, who lay so at peace and trusted Chloe to his very depths.

“I promise you need not worry,” swore Chloe.

A squeeze of Kevin was enough to provide reassurance. Kevin found enough strength to pull himself upright, as he sat astride Chloe, and his hands ran firm and slow over a broad chest, as he massaged at the skin and stroked at every curve, while Chloe half-closed his eyes. It was a small intimacy, but one that nearly lulled him into a contented sleep. He opened his eyes when Kevin nipped at his neck with a chuckle. A soft kiss followed.

“Just don’t forget,” said Kevin. “I know we’ve been busy.”

Chloe smiled, until Kevin lowered his hands. They rested over his stomach, stroking and working at the toned muscles with an expert technique, but Kevin stared so intently at his abdomen . . . a tense narrowing of the eyes, a slight pursing of his lips . . . Chloe sighed and took his hands in a gentle grip. He brought them to his mouth, before he delivered a kiss to every knuckle and held them against his heart. Kevin lowered his head. A brief sadness washed over them both, as Chloe swallowed hard and asked in a whisper:

“Do you ever want children in your future?”

“More than anything,” confessed Kevin. “I always knew I could never bear one, and Warsman and I . . . we . . . we never really discussed matters, as I was so young and the relationship was so new, but I think I just resigned myself to it never being an option. Still, while I would want them in the future, now really isn’t the time, Chloe.”

“That I can understand,” said Chloe. “I do quite agree.”

“I also . . . I also hate this feeling inside me. I always thought I’d be having this conversation with _him_ , and I still love him so much, but I don’t want my love for him to spoil what _we_ have together. I feel like I’m ruining this moment; we have something so perfect, so natural, and yet my thoughts and loyalties lie elsewhere. Do I blame him for that or myself?

“I know I should have gotten back in touch with him, but I was just so ashamed of how I acted and my time in the dMp and that I even dared to give him an ultimatum, and then when I finally felt as if I redeemed myself . . . he was gone. I was unable to find him.”

Chloe winced. He turned his head and stared at the messy bureau, where clothes lay stacked ready to be put away into wardrobes and drawers, but Kevin – with a trembling hand and visible swallow – took his chin and forced his gaze back. A few tears threatened to break over Chloe’s red eyes, while Kevin whispered ‘I’m sorry’ over and over again. Chloe reached up to clasp those rosy cheeks. He stroked at them with a soft smile, while he blinked away tears and fought back the urge to confess everything, as he instead asked in broken voice:

“What would you say to him now, if you could say anything?”

A furrowed brow was the only response, as Kevin looked him over. The unspoken question lingering in the air . . . _‘it’s considered improper etiquette to talk about one’s ex, and yet – even as I hurt you – you ask about them; why?’_. . . Chloe smiled again, as he brought those hands back to his lips and continued to kiss them all over, until Kevin sighed. Kevin collapsed back beside him, as they lay side-by-side on their backs, but their hands remained entwined between them with fingers gently caressing one another.

“I would ask for closure,” confessed Kevin.

“Closure?”

“We never really broke up as such.” Kevin shrugged. “The love is also still there. I’d want to know whether there was a chance at reconciliation, or whether I should just move on, because I feel as if I’m in limbo right now, and . . . and it’s not fair on you.”

“I told you that I do not mind.”

“Yes, but _I_ do, Chloe. I don’t want to _be_ that man again.”

Kevin rolled onto his side. He leaned on his elbow, so that he could look down on Chloe, and his hair fell about his face, adding to the shadows and hiding a great deal of his chest. It made his eyes all the more piercing, as Kevin leaned into Chloe’s personal space. They were close enough that the warmth of his breath caught against Chloe’s cheeks, while his nose would briefly touch and brush against Chloe’s, and soon a strong hand cupped itself around the back of his neck, where it provided a reassuring presence. Chloe licked at his lips.

“I don’t want you to emotionally invest, if there’s any chance of a break-up.” Kevin let loose a hiss of breath. “I can’t keep putting myself first in life, because I’ve learnt that my actions affect those around me, and – _fine_ – you’re right that I need to be ruthless in the ring, but do I really need to be ruthless in my personal life, too? I can’t be that man, Chloe.”

“I am giving you permission to use me as you so wish,” said Chloe.

“But that’s what infuriates me so much! I can’t . . . I _can’t_ just view you as something disposable, even if you won’t tell me _why_ it’s so important for you that I win, enough that you’d give up _everything_ for me, and I just –! We’re meant to be _partners_.”

A heavy sigh escaped his lips. Kevin collapsed back on the sheets. The mattress dipped a little under his weight, while he brought the bases of his palms to his eyes, and – as he pressed deep to block out the world around them – Chloe cuddled close beside him. Kevin soon dropped his arms around Chloe, as a muttered complaint escaped him, and together they watched the rain falling outside, as their small London apartment grew chilly in the night. A sharp kick allowed the sheets to be pulled to their chins, as they lay entwined.

“I’ll always regret that I left him,” whispered Kevin. “It’s the little things you miss . . . the way he’ll wince and look away when he’s upset, but the way his eyes sparkle and widen when he’s amused . . . I miss his laughter, his criticism, his support . . . I never thought I’d find that with anyone else, as he was the only person I ever brought myself to trust.”

“I do understand, Kevin.” Chloe pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I have always been something of a lone wolf, always believing it was impossible for me to be loved, but I also had someone leave me and it left me doubting myself. I still fear rejection.”

“Sorry, I’m talking about myself and my ex, and we’re –”

“No, I want this relationship to be based on trust. At least . . . as much as possible. If we are to hide our emotions and opinions, we will only build a wall between us, and that will hinder you in the ring and cause you to second-guess my advice, which will cause us harm.”

“Yes, but how can you trust me? I still have feelings for my ex, and I can’t even guarantee you I’ll get over that or ever be able to fully invest in another. You also fear being abandoned, something I suspect runs deeper than just one break-up, and isn’t that why you hide your true identity from me? What if we’re just clinging together, but end up hurting each other?”

Chloe pulled away. He pressed a lingering kiss to Kevin’s forehead, before he crawled out of bed and made his way to a small suitcase in the corner of the room. A few changes of body-suits lay inside, along with a spare mask and some electrical equipment, and Chloe snatched at a suit, before he darted behind a folding screen and swiftly undressed. The soft light from the streetlamps and moon cast shadows on the decorated paper, which brought a chuckle from Kevin, and – with a blush – Chloe purposely slowed down and put on a show.

“A part of me wants to be hurt,” whispered Chloe.

The suit dropped to the floor, where he bent carefully to fold it away. He peeked behind the screen, with red eyes glowing behind the mask of ‘Chloe’, and Kevin was clearly aroused by the silhouette behind the screen, which provided an erotic show. Chloe quickly dressed in a fresh suit, before he double-checked that no inch of black skin was on show. A low hum came from the bed; Kevin took no shame in pleasuring himself, even as Chloe scoffed and tossed a pillow to him with a deep blush. Kevin laughed and raised his hands in surrender.

Chloe wandered back to the bed. He crawled over to Kevin and dropped beside him, while Kevin continued to laugh until laughter threatened to turn into tears, and the lingering discomfort remained between them . . . _secret identities borne from distrust, an inability to commit due to conflicting loyalties . . ._ they remained entwined, as Kevin ran his hands over every inch of skin and pressed chaste kisses against his jaw. Kevin asked in a low voice:

“It’s better to feel pain than nothing at all?”

“I think we need one another,” said Chloe. “I perhaps need to learn that I am capable of being loved, and face my fear of rejection, but I suspect that I shall do as I have always done . . . I shall run when the feelings are too much to bear, only to strive to become someone else, so that I do not have to face myself and confront the true issues. I am a coward, Kevin.”

“So you’ll leave before you think I can leave you?” Kevin scoffed. “I wish I could criticise you, but I’ve spent a lifetime doing the same thing with everyone. Still, I swear to you that I won’t leave you . . . I have my suspicions, but even if I were wrong . . .”

“Why must life be so complicated? You struggle to realise that it is possible to love more than one person, as if life were some romantic novel in which there is one and only person for the entirety of our existence, and you cling to this idea, as perhaps it brings you some comfort when your life has been spent in the search for love. You deserve to feel loved and be loved, but I fear I am the worst person to provide what you need with my issues at present.”

A low hum escaped Kevin. The bedside-table buzzed as his phone vibrated, while _The Imperial March_ blasted into the air, and – as a photograph of Robin appeared – Chloe flared his nostrils and turned his head to give Kevin a look that said ‘ _really’_ , until Kevin fumbled around and turned the phone off with a muttered complaint. A strange silence fell between them, until Kevin crawled ever closer and pressed his lips to a waiting ear. The pause that followed left his intent unclear, until the words spilled forth quickly:

“Do you see us with a future?”

Chloe instinctively held tight to Kevin. He pressed his face-plate against blond hair, while he breathed deep the rich scent and pressed chaste kisses against him, and tears were quickly blinked away, as he thought to the future that eluded them . . . all his dreams, desires, ambitions . . . Chloe swallowed hard. The racing of his heart pounded against his chest, until it blocked out all other sounds, and his hands trembled even as he pressed them flat against Kevin, desperate to still them despite the need for comfort. He closed his eyes.

“I dream of nothing else,” gasped Chloe.

“Then why do you hide from me?”

“Because . . . Because I am the one that is meant to be strong.” Chloe winced. “I am ashamed to say that I came to you for a mixture of reasons . . . a sense of duty to a friend, a desire to become champion even if through another . . . a desire to be _with_ you . . .  what right do I have to burden you with my problems, especially when you also have problems to overcome?

“I am your trainer and your second. I was never meant to become emotionally involved, but I wanted you from the moment I saw you and I needed you from our first moments together, and I loved you . . . I loved you from the start. It is my job and duty to do right by you, which means putting your needs above mine and making sure you are always content. I owe it to you to protect you. I cannot let you worry over my own trivial needs.”

“Just because you’re my second, doesn’t mean you can’t come first,” said Kevin. “If there is one thing that I’ve learned, it’s that any relationship has to have a foundation of trust and be formed of equal partners, and in the past . . . I know my ultimatums proved that we weren’t equals, but instead I loved myself more than my partner. If we’re to trust each other, we have to support each other through anything and everything. I’ll always have your back.”

“And what happens when you take time to comfort me?” Chloe shook his head. “I cannot allow you to put me first; it will only distract from your training and emotional recovery, and I cannot risk telling you the whole truth, as you would only leave me . . . once the finals are complete, I shall tell you the whole truth, and if you choose to leave, at least you’ll have won.”

“It sounds like you don’t trust me at all, Chloe, not if you think I’d walk away from you. Do you ever think this is a self-fulfilling prophecy? If you walk away before facing potential rejection -? If you purposely hide aspects of yourself -? What do you expect to happen?”

“And already I have brought resentment and pain to you . . .”

“You’re twisting my words. Don’t do that.”

Kevin pulled away with a pout, as he stared down at Chloe. A shiver ran through Chloe, as a stray tear broke from his eye and rolled down into the pillow below, and the absolute love that coursed through him clashed hard with fear, as he whispered: _‘you are the only thing in my life that I fear losing, Kevin’_. Kevin softened his expression. He bent low to kiss away the tears, while Chloe laughed and shook his head. Chloe bolted upright, as he wiped away his tears and forced a smile, before he swung his legs out of bed and busied himself.  

He snatched at stray items of clothing, while Kevin huffed and dropped back down, and Chloe continued to tidy and clean and organise, until he walked past the bed and Kevin grabbed at his wrist with quick reflexes. Chloe was dragged down onto the bed, where Kevin climbed astride him with a devilish grin and pinned him against the sheets. The tears threatened to fall again, as Chloe realised he was still wanted and needed, and he begged:

“Please, swear to me this will only be physical.”

Kevin let go. He knelt with legs on either side of his hips, but he folded his arms over his chest and cocked his head, and that familiar arrogance returned as he smirked down at Chloe with narrowed eyes and another scoff. Chloe remained prone and limp against the sheets, with arms thrown high above his head. He swallowed hard. It was rare for Kevin to take charge . . . to dominate, to control . . . Chloe felt the pangs of arousal threatening to make themselves known, especially when Kevin leaned low with long hair curtaining around them.  

“I’ll not swear that,” said Kevin.

“If you start putting emotion into this, it will only hurt worse later on,” croaked Chloe. “I cannot be the man you need me to be, and you have made so much personal growth, but what will happen when I hurt you or you feel so betrayed by my secrets that you leave me?”

“I am already invested, Chloe. This can’t just be physical, because –”

“Do not say it, Kevin. Please, do not say –”

“I love you,” said Kevin.

The tears spilled thick and fast. Chloe strove to see through blurred vision, as his red eyes adjusted in the darkness to his tears, but adoration mingled with fear and his head grew light with the rush of emotion that coursed through every vein. A few tears broke in Kevin’s eyes, as he pressed his lips against Chloe. It was not quite a kiss. Their lips parted briefly, each sharing in the other’s breaths, and the touch lingered until Kevin pulled back and nuzzled against the side of his neck, humming long and low so vibrations broke over his skin.

“I love you, Chloe . . . _my Chloe_. . .”

Chloe threw his arms around Kevin, as he strove to hold back choked sobs. He pulled Kevin impossibly close, until their bodies were flush against one another, and instinctively parted his legs and wrapped them around a muscled waist, while he sought to instigate a kiss that would distract both of them from the issues at hand. Kevin tried to pull back . . . words of protest stuttering on his lips, but Chloe pulled him back until all words were lost . . .  

He knew it could only end with tears . . .


	5. Chapter 5

_‘I thought it was you . . .’_

_Kevin blinked back the tears. The rain crashed down against his mask, soaking into his hair and running down his bared sections of skin. It merged with the blood, creating red rivulets that ran behind his armour and soaked into the battered canvas at his side, and every muscle in his body ached, as his nerves ran with a white-hot pain. Warsman stood so close, but just out of reach. A terrible ache struck at his heart. Kevin choked on bile._

_He reached for his chest, where he touched the warm steel of his armour . . . desire, betrayal, confusion . . . Kevin screwed shut his eyes, before he cast them again over Warsman. The rain ran over the organic and metallic components of his body, while his piercing red irises peered out as he looked over his shoulder, and his gaze was locked on Kevin, with so many emotions fighting behind his stoic façade that he was impossible to read. A tremble ran through Kevin, as blood loss made him head swim and his vision spark with blurred shapes._

_‘Your father took me in when nobody else would,’ said Warsman. ‘He trained me and helped me to join the ranks of the_ chojin _. It was only natural for me to repay him.’_

 _Kevin doubled over. The nausea rose in his stomach, ever higher, until acid burned at the back of his throat and tears threatened to break over trembling lips, but then he saw it . . . he saw how Warsman winced and turned away, as if unable to face the effect of his half-truths. Kevin bit into his lip, until the iron of blood flooded his tongue. There was more. The strange silence of the crowds, while 120,000 paid ticket-holders watched from afar, and the_ chojin _around them . . . all listening, all knowing . . . Warsman_ _turned back._

_‘That belt looks good on you,’ whispered Warsman._

_Warsman knelt low, where he hand forth a book. The rain ran off the leather-bound surface, while Warsman struggled to maintain eye-contact, and Kevin – with a shaking hand – took what was offered to him, even as his mouth ran dry and eyes watered. Their fingertips briefly touched against the pages, until Warsman pulled away and stood tall before him. The grey clouds stood as a stark background. Kevin let loose a shuddered sigh, as Warsman choked:_

_‘Cherish the Olap your father created.’_

_A look lingered between them, until Warsman – with a shuddered sigh – ran. He ran straight for the hallway towards their dressing room, where time seemed to stand still . . . the gasps and gossip still rang out among the crowds, while the_ chojin _around them loudly discussed the ramifications of the latest reveal. Kevin grew cold. He used his last ounce of strength to reach out, while he tasted tears and blood against his lips. He shouted loudly:_

 _‘Chloe . . . no,_ Warsman . . . _where are you going?’_

_‘I do not know.’ Warsman stopped and looked back with a soft smile. ‘I do not care about being king of a planet or head of a wrestling school. I am a robo-chojin; I do not age. Maybe one day, you will see me in the blue corner facing off against you!’_

_Warsman ran once more. The fainter his figure became, the greater the sensation of dread that swelled in the pit of Kevin’s stomach. Kevin struggled to breathe. Each panted breath escaped faster and faster, as he fought to reach out towards his disappearing love, but there was not enough strength . . . not enough energy . . . he all but fell, as his body slipped in rain and blood. Tears streamed down his face, while his lips stumbled after words that failed to be found, and the last words he remembered were those of Warsman . . . half-heard, fully-felt . . ._

_‘So long . . .’_

_* * *_

Kevin stood alone.

It was a small apartment, with just one room to call ‘home’. The bed was shoved against a far wall, beneath a collage of mechanical diagrams and detailed sketches and various photographs, while the kitchen-counters opposite sported a spotless stove. A half-opened door to a tiny _en suite_ left loose a burst of steam. There was a low hum from inside, as a shadowy figure moved from the Japanese-style bathtub into a standing position.

Kevin slid the balcony doors closed. A train rattled behind him, high on the elevated track, and dozens of faces could be seen inside, each one lost in worlds of their own designs. Not one would look towards the apartment, but still the fear lingered and he wrenched shut the threadbare curtains until they allowed inside only a strange glow from the streetlights. He barely found time to turn around when the bathroom door clicked shut. Warsman stood. The doorway framed him, as his red eyes looked Kevin slowly up and down.

A strange silence fell between them . . . _the ticking of a clock, the whirring of a fridge motor, the footsteps of a neighbour above returning drunk . . ._ neither of them spoke, even as Kevin’s heart thumped loud in his eardrums. Warsman wore only his revealing battle-shorts, while the rest of his body dripped and shined with water. There was a large swell to his stomach, one that was not there before, and his lips were pursed into a thin line.

“It took me three weeks to heal,” said Kevin.

Kevin stepped ever closer, as he reached to removed his mask. It sent a wave of blond hair cascading over his shoulders, while his blue eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and Kevin slammed his mask down onto the kitchen counter, before he pointed upward. He gestured to a scar down his eyebrow, before he swallowed and took another step toward Warsman. A framed photograph sat on the kitchen counter. It featured him receiving the championship belt, while a collage of newspaper cuttings lay on its side. Warsman stayed still.

“I then had to participate in their _ridiculous_ world tour.” Kevin huffed. “I spoke to the prime minister, just as I met with the queen, and I attended every party that was expected of me. I hope you noticed that I carried your mask with me . . . in the cars on the parades . . . it should have been _you_ beside me, not your cracked mask as a broken reminder.”

“Kevin, I apologise . . .”

“Ah, but _then_ followed three long months as I searched for you. I was so close . . . just within reach . . . until the Demon Seed came and took me away from my search, but even then I felt you watching over me and right beside me when I needed you most.”

Kevin stepped again . . . _once more_. He stood before Warsman. A few inches lay between them, close enough to break with a kiss or a hug or a fist . . . Kevin clenched his hands at his sides, until his knuckles turned white, and he struggled to find breath. The small hisses escaped flared nostrils. The sight of Warsman blurred, as tears distorted his vision. He brought a hand slowly up, just a few millimetres from that black skin still damp with water, but pulled it away and clasped its trembling self against his chest. Kevin choked out:

“That was you in Toyama, wasn’t it?”

Warsman rapidly blinked. He reached toward Kevin, but Kevin jerked away with a scoff. The red eyes were narrowed underneath, as if holding back a wince or falling tears, and – even as Kevin stepped back – Warsman allowed his hand to linger between them. There were no questions about how Kevin broke inside the apartment . . . no question as to how he found the apartment in the first place . . . just a hand that slowly fell from the air, as a shuddered and broken sound escaped a cybernetic throat. Warsman looked down and whispered:

“Kevin, I –”

“Why?” Kevin blinked back his tears. “If you don’t want me, why watch over me? You could have just walked away, but instead you keep – you keep – you keep _staying_ right in my eye-line and out of my reach! It’s a torment unlike any other. I could stand losing friends, like Mars, and I could stand the intense rivalries, like with Mantaro, but this . . . this . . .

“You have two choices: let me go or come back. It’s not even an ultimatum, but a plea as I beg you for mercy . . . I can’t stand this limbo of not knowing, as I hope and yet dare not hope, and all the while you tease and torment by this eternal game of cat-and-mouse. _Why_?”

“It is more complicated than I dare express.”

“I was always honest with you,” continued Kevin. “I swore that I’d never leave you, Nikolai; it was always an open secret that ‘Chloe’ was another aspect of yourself, something I’d come to suspect and feel on a fundamental level, and I begged you – _pleaded_ – that you stay with me, even when you just ran away into the distance. Why abandon me like that?”

Kevin dug his hands into his hair. A sharp pull brought him back to reality, as he stumbled over to the bed with shoulders hunched, and – before he sat – his eyes moved to the mass of papers scattered across the wall, which chronicled a life well-lived. The images of Robin were stern and professional, often taken at key points of his career, while the photographs of Kevin were relaxed and candid. One showed a stolen kiss with Warsman in a used book-shop, where he remembered Meat giggling behind the camera and promising to delete the image.

At the far right, there was a black-and-white image tacked onto the wall. It was difficult to make out at first, like an inverted triangle of grey on a black background, and only on staring did he see the white shape of an unborn child, which suckled on its thumb. Kevin slowly turned. He stumbled backward, until his legs hit the back of the bed. The mattress creaked beneath him, as Kevin fell limp against the sheets, and he stared blankly at the ceiling.

“You’re pregnant,” muttered Kevin.

A heavy weight fell at his chest. Kevin brought his hand to his t-shirt, while he rubbed awkwardly at his muscle and every beat of his heart reverberated against his palm. Warsman slowly stepped towards him, as he sat beside Kevin with perfect posture, and the swell to his stomach was more prominent at that angle, with the stretch of skin fit to burst. Two hands instinctively came underneath the swell, where he rubbed at the aching skin.

“I am at the five-month mark,” said Warsman.

“And a _chojin_ pregnancy is –”

“Six months, yes.”

Kevin pulled himself into an upright position. He offered a hand in the general direction, to which Warsman smiled and took it with a gentle hold, and it was carefully pressed to the warm skin, where – after a few seconds – a kick brushed against Kevin’s palm. A high-pitched cry escaped him, as he yanked it back and stared with wide eyes. He was unable to close his mouth, even as he gaped and gawked, and a strange realisation dawned . . . _he was to become a father_. The tears fell afresh, as Kevin stared hard at Warsman.

“It was the month before the finals,” said Warsman. “You asked me not to forget about emergency contraception, but we came _so close_ to mastering the Olap and your training schedule grew so intense . . . I remembered too late. I could not bear the thought of abortion, even if I support the choice of others, and so I left matters to chance.”

“And – what – were you ever going to _tell_ me?”

“I think it was – in part – why I could not leave you. I followed you everywhere, as I strove to protect you from harm, and I saw how you suffered and drank and instigated fights . . . I would carry you home on some nights, just as I carried you to safety in Toyama. Still, I could not let you see me in this state. I was ashamed, Kevin. I was frightened.

“I loved being a part of your life, and I loved you too much to see you come to harm. I would give my life for yours, if it were ever a choice, and yet the idea of you seeing me in this state was more than I could bear, especially when I so feared my uncertain condition. I wanted to come to you when I knew what I wanted, so that we could talk and compromise and manage my choice together as a team, but . . . I still do not know if I can parent them.”  

“I don’t understand. It’s too late now to abort.”

“I know, but that does not mean I can be a parent.” A tear ran down Warsman’s cheek. “You know that my father willingly committed suicide, yes? You know that I was tormented and bullied for my appearance, yes? I fear that I am not enough for a child. I also fear that I would inflict on them my heritage . . . my pain . . . I debated giving them entirely to you.”

A frown crossed Kevin’s features. He pressed a hand again to the stomach, which was still damp from the shower, and smiled to see that – when he pressed against the outline of a foot – a foot would appear in another location, as the baby moved in response to his touch. The tiny apartment was devoid of anything that could belong to a child, but the ultrasound images were prominent on the wall and a row of prenatal vitamins lined the far shelf. A stack of pregnancy books littered the countertops. Kevin croaked out in a low voice:

“You’d _abandon_ our child?”

Warsman flinched, while he awkwardly slid further along the mattress. He rested against the wall, as Kevin noticed a rolled futon in the corner of the room, and realisation dawned that it would be difficult to crawl up and down from the floor in his current state. Kevin sighed and marched over to the small kitchen counter. He snatched at a saucepan and boiled some water, while his nostrils flared at the lack of a kettle either electric or stovetop.

“I want to leave them,” said Warsman. “It would be best for them, but I love them, Kevin. I _love_ them. They have such developed personalities already; I feel one kick when I am inactive, as he so loves being rocked to sleep with movement, and the other fidgets with his hands, as he presses them continuously to my side. He likes to explore.”

“They? You’re speaking in the plural.”

“Does that surprise you? Your mother was an identical twin.”

Kevin nearly spilled the water. The saucepan jerked in his hand, with a splash falling to extinguish the gas flame, and – turning off the hob – Kevin quickly slid the saucepan to the countertop, where he awkwardly strove to brew some tea. He fought back the race of his heart, as it pounded in his ears, and his mouth ran dry at the prospect of double the responsibilities, as well as double the risks. Kevin panted for breath, as he walked to Warsman and handed him a mug of tea with a trembling hand. Warsman took the mug.

“I think I have made up my mind,” confessed Warsman. “It is why I marked it on the calendar that I would tell you next week, once your exhibition matches in Tokyo were completed, but it never occurred to me that you would find me before that date.”

“It took a while to track you down, but  . . . you called Daddy.”

“Ah, yes, I did not expect you would turn to Robin for help in this matter. I expected even less that he would be so supportive as to offer you my current details, but he likely suspected my cowardice would hold me back and my desire for you was still strong . . . he always knew me better than I knew myself, whether it was to manipulate me or to support me.”

“And what – pray tell – does he think of being a grandfather?”

“He has already built a full nursery in anticipation, which – I must admit – is a relief when I have not bought a single item . . . I feared at first I might lose them, or that I might jinx things with such goods, and then I was too consumed with anxiety in telling you the truth.”

Warsman took a long sip. The slurped sound echoed about the room, while Kevin paced in across the small patch of carpet and kept his head low . . . _someone to call him ‘father’, someone to love and support . . . baby-proofing his apartment, creating a savings fund, researching different schooling options . . ._ a smile cracked over his lips. The fear mingled with excitement, as he ran his hands through his hair and clasped them at the back his neck. A shuddered breath escaped him. Kevin rapidly blinked, while he shook his head.

“I’ll be honest,” said Kevin. “I don’t know how to react.”

Steam rose around Warsman’s face, as he swirled the hot contents and hummed. Warsman sat motionless, until he carefully put the mug on the floor beside his feet, and – after taking several tries to stand upright – took two steps to the shelving unit opposite the bed. He leaned down and picked up a small item. It was some sort of tattered fabric, barely held together with fragile thread, and Warsman cradled it in his hands, as he turned to say:

“Robin gave me this for our children, too.”

Warsman gently extended his hand. Kevin took the item, only to uncover it was a small plush toy, and – with a smile – he saw the name ‘Mr Fluffy’ written in felt-tip pen on its stomach, while one beaded eye hung down from its misshapen face. It was difficult to discern its intended animal even when it was new, but now it was something that would need a great deal of craft and disinfectant to make safe for a child. Kevin smiled. The memories of his childhood flashed back, both pleasant and unpleasant, as he chuckled and said:

“Perhaps he’ll be a better grandfather than a father.”

“Perhaps,” said Warsman.

“Still, before we can even talk about raising a child, I need to know why you _left_ me.” Kevin pinched hard at the bridge of his nose. “You said you’d have told me next week about our child – no, _children . . ._ what does that even mean? Do you think you’d have wanted to be an item with me again? You lied about being Chloe. You lied about being that monk.”

“Kevin, I was afraid that –”

“Okay, so you were afraid, but what’s to stop you being afraid again? I don’t want to commit to raising a child _with_ you, not if you could just walk out of their lives, but equally . . . I _need_ you, Nikolai. I also want our children to always know you, because you’re a part of them.”

Kevin bounced the stuffed toy in his palm. The fabric still had a faint baby-smell, which he breathed deep and thought back to their trip to the store . . . a smile broke over his face, even as a tear rolled down his cheek . . . Warsman sat beside him. He put the stuffed toy onto the floor, while his hand came to rest on the sheets, and Warsman followed in suit, as his hand rested so close that their fingertips touched and the world stopped. Kevin entwined their fingers, while he cast his eyes toward the swollen skin of his extended stomach.  

“I will not leave again,” swore Warsman.

“Yes, but how do I _know_ that?”

A series of footsteps echoed out from upstairs. It brought back memories of their stolen nights together, when every moment was tainted with a fear of being caught, and in turn there followed perfect memories with ‘Chloe’, where they basked in the afterglow and watched the sunrise in the distance. Kevin rolled his shoulders. He cricked his neck, while a dark blush overcame his cheeks, and Warsman squeezed at his hand, as he chuckled in clear acknowledgment of the inadvertent reaction. Kevin mumbled:

“What’s with all the secrets and lies?”

“I first came to you as Chloe only as a favour to Robin.” Warsman winced. “I had intended to keep my distance until you expressed an interest to reunite, and – as much as it displeased me – I feared that perhaps you would grow away from me and meet new people. Still, I would rather you have been happy with another than miserable alone. I had to accept that.

“It seemed an easy choice to make. I would pay a favour to my friend, by training his son to obtain the success that eluded his grasp, and I would pay back a debt to an ex-lover, by helping him to achieve his dreams. I knew that you would not accept my motivations. You loathed your father, and it took a great number of weeks to even gently persuade you to entertain the notion of incorporating his techniques into your repertoire, and . . .

“I also thought coming to you as myself would confuse matters. It would either end with instant rejection, as you still required space or still felt conflicted, or . . . it would instantly become romantic and you would not see me as a trainer, but as a love interest. My goal was simple, and I was sure I could objectively fulfil my role, but then something happened.”

“Oh? What – pray tell – was that?”

“I fell in love all over again.”

Tears sparkled in the light. A broken smile overcame Warsman, as his free hand rubbed light circles underneath his stomach, and his head cocked to the side, while red eyes locked with blue eyes and stared with a burning intensity. The hand on Kevin’s held tight, while Warsman let loose a shuddered breath and licked at his lips. Time froze. A stray tear trickled down Warsman’s cheek, where it rolled down his jaw and fell onto his thigh, and Kevin was speechless, even as the silence between them lingered and Warsman gasped:

“I saw you and I loved you, Kevin.”

Kevin lowered his head, while he screwed shut his eyes. He took in several long and deep breaths, as his heart continued to race, and his stomach lurched until nausea rolled, while he fought back the bile that burned at his throat. Kevin reopened his eyes and reached with a free hand, where he wiped back the tears and pressed a chaste kiss to a cold cheek. He left his lips lingering against soft skin. Warsman turned his head just enough that their lips nearly touched, while they shared a long breath, and Kevin pulled back and asked breathlessly:

“Is that why you gave into my advances?”

“You were beautiful inside and out,” said Warsman. “I laid eyes on you and knew my desire was still the same, but the more I came to see how much you changed -? I never before thought I could love you any more, but every day my love for you exceeded previous heights, and I admired the changes you made and the person you became. I could not resist.”

“So why did you _leave_ , Nikolai?

“I thought – I thought you would hate me.” Warsman winced. “I could not stand another rejection, not after an entire childhood of abandonment and loss, and to then after your ultimatum when you left me that night in London -? No. It was more than I could bear. I trusted you and loved you, and I knew you had become a good person, but . . .

“Could you have forgiven me for coming to you under a deception? I hated myself for having lied to you, but I hated myself more for letting myself believe that you would still want to be with someone like me, as I was still reeling from your first rejection. I was not enough for you then, so what if I was not enough for you now? You loved _Chloe_ , but I was not Chloe and he was merely a part of me. I was too afraid to wait and see your reaction.”

Warsman gently extricated his hand. He stood and made his way to the stove, while Kevin hunched forward and buried his fingers into his hair . . . he yanked . . . the pain shot through him, enough that it allowed him to breathe once more, as he took in great heaving breaths. He licked at dry lips and tasted tears. Kevin sat upright and wiped at his eyes, even as his heartbeat echoed about his ears and guilt caused him to retch, and he saw Warsman leaning with head low against the counter. Kevin stood and swallowed hard.

“I – I didn’t mean to make you feel that you weren’t enough for me,” whispered Kevin. “I also never realised what effect my leaving might have on you, but I just . . . I _needed_ to get away from Daddy and from London. I’m sorry. I should have been more considerate.”

“You did not know,” said Warsman.

“No, but neither did you. I mean . . . this isn’t ideal, but aren’t we even? I left you, because I was too arrogant and thought _my_ needs outweighed _our_ needs, and you left me, because you made assumptions and refused to openly communicate with me. We’ve both changed, Nikolai, but we both need to regain the trust that was lost. That takes time.”

Kevin slowly walked towards Warsman. He gently placed hands on broad shoulders, before they slid ever downward and wrapped around his waist. It was different to before . . . the skin on the stomach was taut and stretched, while the kicks of one child were clear against his palm, and it was a constant reminder of their new responsibilities . . . Kevin hummed. A soft kiss was placed to the back of Warsman’s neck, until he tilted his head to the side and exposed the long column of neck. Kevin lay a series of kisses and asked:

“Why don’t we start again?”

He slowly pulled back and turned Warsman. The red eyes were narrowed under a furrowed brow, while his curiosity burned through in the tilt of his head, and Kevin – with an awkward laugh – took Warsman’s hand and shook it in a formal manner. Warsman hummed, before a smile broke over his lips and he returned the shake in earnest. They let go of each other’s hands with a blush on both sets of cheeks, before Kevin gave a mock salute.

“Hi,” said Kevin. “I’m Kevin, the father of your child.”

A low chuckle escaped Warsman, as he mock bowed and stood upright. He braced himself with a hand on the counter, lest the gesture throw him off-balance, but ultimately locked eyes with Kevin and took his chin in a free hand. A light kiss was pressed to his lips, which lingering until it threatened to become something deeper . . . more passionate. Tears pricked at Warsman’s eyes, but this time they sparkled with affection, as he responded:

“I am Nikolai, the man that loves you.”


	6. Chapter 6

Warsman was beautiful . . .

The rocking-chair moved in a slow rhythm, while a blanket rested over his lower limbs. A breeze came in through the open windows, bringing with them a few petals from the cherry blossoms outside, and – from the preschool down the street – laughter echoed about the nursery, as Kevin awkwardly hammered the last shelf into place. Boxes lay scattered over every stray surface, but the main pieces of furniture were at least complete.

Kevin dropped the hammer back into the toolbox. The clatter jolted Warsman awake, as his hands instinctively wrapped around his stomach, and the stretch-marks looked almost painful, as he sat positively fit to burst with the strain of the twins. A sparkle brightened his red eyes, while he ran his hands over a footprint and retracted with a small poke. Warsman chuckled. It was good to see him so natural and relaxed, but equally fatigue was writ across his paled organic features and his back was still hunched from various aches.

“I was thinking we could have a date,” said Kevin.

The toolbox was kicked out into the hallway, as Kevin stepped back and admired his work, and a smile graced his features, before he turned to the nearest cardboard box and awkwardly tore it to shreds in an attempt to get to its contents. A variety of baby-clothes stared at him, including a tiny set of socks for feet smaller than his thumb. Tears pricked at his eyes. He brought them to his lips with a soft kiss, before he packed them into the chest-of-drawers, while Warsman continued to rock and listen to the sounds of children in the distance.

“Ah, a date with the man whose children I carry,” teased Warsman.

Kevin huffed. He wiped his forehead with his forearm, while he focused on putting away the clothes with faint smiles that overrode his annoyance at the comment, but quickly threw up an arm to signal ‘stop’ as Warsman made to step forward. Kevin snatched a glass of water from the windowsill, before he darted towards Warsman and pushed it into his hands. He pulled the blanket to his chin and effectively tucked him into place, while Warsman chuckled and sipped at the water, and Kevin returned to his task of unpacking the boxes.

“Well, we couldn’t publicly date when I was living with Daddy,” said Kevin. “We also couldn’t publicly date when you trained me as Chloe, as it would’ve been a conflict of interests, so . . . well . . . I thought it’d be nice to go to a fancy restaurant. We’ve been too rushed what with buying the new house and setting up the nursery, so –”

“I am a week overdue, Kevin. Do you think a date wise?”

“Daddy said spicy foods can induce labour, and Mantaro recommended an Indian restaurant that he tried with Samu.  Plus, I – I think we’ve been too busy thinking about how we’d raise the boys and how best to reorganise our schedules . . . how much time have we found for _us_ and how this redefines what was already a pretty complicated relationship?”

“Ah, you think we need to talk.” Warsman tilted his head. “You may be right. I have greatly enjoyed this past month, especially as my nesting instinct has grown stronger, but it has left very little time for intimacy and conversation and trust-building exercises.”

“Exactly, and that’ll only get worse when the babies come.”

“Yes, whom we have yet to name,” said Warsman.

Kevin winced, as he ran a hand awkwardly over his neck. He closed the bottom drawer with a slow movement, before he opened the next one and paused, and various boxes towered around him, as if threatening to entomb him in newfound responsibilities. Kevin sighed and closed the empty drawer. He walked back to the window and sat on the windowsill, while the garden sat beautiful and well-kept just beyond . . . gates and fences that needed to be erected, along with a play-set yet to be constructed . . . Kevin groaned and asked:

“What – er – were you thinking?”

Warsman leaned forward in the rocking-chair. He kicked at the exposed plug-socket, before he nodded to the open door and the baby-gate still in its box, and – as Kevin dropped his head with a low moan – Warsman simply chuckled again and leaned back. The number of a handyman sat prominently on the changing table, along with various cards from Terry the Kid and Checkmate that offered to help in any projects, and Kevin pursed his lips, as he pushed back a lock of pink fringe from his sweat-soaked forehead. Warsman murmured:

“Mask for one, Volkov for the other.”

“I meant for _first_ names, Nikolai. “I am glad, however, you didn’t suggest ‘Robin’ for a name . . . I’ll be relieved to see that family name die with me, and together we can start a new line with ‘Mask’. Still, there must be some name you want? I’m open to ideas.”

“What about a Russian name with Mask and an English one for Volkov?”

“So that they’ll always carry a little piece of their heritages,” said Kevin. “I do like that idea. What do you think about Dmitriy Mask and Michael Volkov? I suppose it doesn’t matter. We still haven’t done nearly enough work on the nursery! How are you so calm? I – I can’t stop working, because if I do then I . . . I worry. Am I going to be like him?”

A few tears pricked at his blue eyes. Warsman smiled and held wide his arms, while he pushed himself back in the rocking-chair, and Kevin – with a chuckle – carefully sat on a pair of closed knees, while he braced his weight on the arm of the chair. A hand came upward, to run through his locks of blond hair with slow and gentle movements. Kevin instinctively leaned into the touch. He carefully avoided the stomach or any pressure to the general area, but he equally longed to be held and touched and embraced. He hummed.

Warsman pulled him down to deliver a kiss; soft lips touched his forehead, until they parted and Kevin sat beside the chair on the floor, where he held awkwardly onto his feet. A hand came to rest on his head. Kevin narrowed his eyes and turned his gaze to Warsman, who raised his hands in mock surrender, before he awkwardly tried to crawl down to the floor to sit beside Kevin, and Kevin – in a panic – rapidly pressed him back into the chair.

“You are nothing like him,” swore Warsman.

Kevin blushed and let loose a shuddered sigh. He snatched at a more robust box, which he slid over to the chair, and sat down close enough to lean against Warsman, who draped an arm around him and squeezed him with a kiss to his hair. The photographs on the wall chronicled their relationship, with a few stray ones of Robin and Alisa, and a blown-up three-dimensional scan of both twins featured centre of all the images. Kevin blinked back his tears, as he breathed deep the scent of Warsman and relished in the feeling of muscle.

“I can’t wait to meet them,” said Kevin.

“We have a few days before we must induce labour.”

“I’ll have the nursery ready by tonight, I swear.” Kevin winced. “I just can’t get my childhood out of my head, though. I know we won’t repeat the mistakes of your parents, as I’ll never – _never –_ allow my children to feel ashamed of their appearances, whether they will be robo-chojin or not, but . . . what if I overwork them or neglect them?”

“Robin was . . . Robin was a strict teacher,” admitted Warsman. “I think that the issue was he failed to distinguish between various roles, but I can promise he was the most wonderful friend once he relinquished his title of my manager, and he is a friend that I cherish to this very day and feel blessed to have in my life. He sadly repeated his past mistakes with you, in that he forgot how to be a father and saw himself solely as your trainer.

“I feel that you can learn from his mistakes, while embodying all of his goodness. You were able to perfect on his Olap Special technique, after all. I know you fear becoming what you so despise, but that in itself is a sign you will likely be nothing like him, as only one unaware of their cruelty will consign themselves to acts of cruelty. A man with a conscience does not seek to intentionally harm another. I believe you have the necessary self-awareness.”

“That’s easier said than done. I don’t think my father lacks a conscience, as you say, but he _did_ lack the self-awareness of the effect of his actions. A part of me has come to understand him and pity him, but still I cannot forgive him and a part of me fears him. My – My greatest fear is that our children will grow to feel that conflict about me, too.”

“An impossible task, I shall swear to you,” said Warsman.

A low groan escaped Warsman, as he pulled himself upright. Kevin jumped to his feet, while he offered an arm that was taken with an appreciative sigh, and a small smile broke over his features, as he allowed Kevin to guide him towards the bedroom. A door linked the two rooms, which provided a clear view of the crib that was directly opposite the bed. Warsman lay down and the mattress dipped beneath his weight. He ran two hands over the taut and extended skin, even as Kevin dashed for a jar of moisturiser for his benefit.

Kevin kindly knocked away his hands. He knelt between parted legs and ran the moisturiser over the barely visible stretch-marks, while massaging with deft expertise, and Warsman slowly sank back into the sheets with a low hum, as his eyes fell closed. A soft kick from one of the children brought laughter to Kevin, as he leaned down and pressed a kiss to the handprint that marred otherwise perfect skin. Warsman lifted a hand to stroke at his hair.

“You are already so attentive to my needs,” said Warsman. “You are attentive to their needs in turn, always making sure that I have done all that I need despite my internal computer, and yet still you doubt yourself when they could not ask for a better father.”

“They deserve the happiness we always lacked,” muttered Kevin.

Warsman hummed, as he slid his way up the mattress. He stopped when his head struck the pillow, while he patted a spot beside him, and Kevin crawled after him, until he threw himself down and the bed bounced with his weight. The bedroom was at least finished; drawers and closet doors were fitted with child-proof locks, while all fragile or dangerous objects rested on newly installed shelving units, and a few items were too high even for Warsman, as Kevin insisted on absolute safety of their children.

“I do not know about them,” said Warsman, “but I am happy.”

A bright smile crossed over Kevin’s features. The bed dipped as he rolled onto his side, while his eyes widened and sparkled with unshed tears, and he took the hand between him in a soft grip, before it was brought to his lips to be trailed with kisses. A tear rolled down Nikolai’s cheek, as he attempted to roll on his side . . . _one jerk of his body, two, three . . ._ Kevin laughed, as Warsman lay on his back like a trapped turtle. The pout was adorable.

Kevin sat upright instead, as he took both hands and pulled Warsman into a sitting position. A low grunt was his only response. Warsman pursed his lips so tightly that they became an indistinguishable part of his face-plate once more, while red eyes sparkled with irritation and – against all odds – amusement at the situation. They looked to one another. Laughter broke, until tears streamed down their faces and stopped only when the swell of love was too much, and Kevin darted forward to deliver a chaste and lingering kiss to Warsman.

“I’m happy, too,” whispered Kevin. “I’m happy, Nikolai.”

Nikolai returned the kiss in earnest . . .


End file.
